Chapter 20 - The Dark House
The entire estate was instantly plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
The hum of the central heating died. The crackle of the fireplace was the only light remaining, casting long, monstrous shadows against the study walls.
Through the heavy storm windows, the perimeter floodlights went dark. Outside, the security sirens didn't wail; their lines had been severed cleanly at the main transformer box down the private road.
"Nathan!" Michael’s voice crackled through the handheld radio on the desk, laced with static and gunfire. "Breach! North gate is down! They bypassed the exterior sensors—they had the biometric codes! Nathan, get the boys to the safe roo—"
A burst of automatic gunfire drowned out Michael’s transmission, followed by the dull, metallic thud of a falling body.
Silence rushed back in, heavy and suffocating.
Nathan lunged forward, drawing the concealed 9mm from the desk drawer, his heart hammering against his ribs like a sledgehammer. He looked at Vanessa. "Take the boys to the storm cellar behind the pantry. Do not open that door for anyone but me."
"Nathan, you can't fight them alone," Vanessa cried, grabbing his forearm, her fingers digging through his coat. "The man who gave them the codes... he's already inside the perimeter!"
"Who is it?!" Nathan snarled, ripping his arm free.
Vanessa opened her mouth to speak, but the deafening shatter of the living room's floor-to-ceiling glass doors silenced her.
From the dark hallway came the sharp, terrified scream of Eli, followed by the cold, calculated sound of heavy combat boots stepping across broken glass.
A familiar voice echoed through the dark house, calm, aristocratic, and completely devoid of mercy:
"Nathan, put the gun down. You really should have read your father's will before you audited his legacy."
Nathan froze. The voice didn't belong to a Chicago mob enforcer.
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It was a voice he had trusted with his life, his company, and his children for twenty years.
Nathan stepped toward the hallway, his weapon raised, his blood turning to ice as the silhouette stepped into the firelight—holding a smoking silenced pistol in one hand, and young Eli by the collar with the other.
