Chapter 3: The Five-Second Countdown
The wind howled through the open doors, scattering wet autumn leaves across the white floor of the foyer. Above them, the golden fringes of the American flag fluttered softly in the draft.
"You have five seconds to leave my house," Evelyn said softly.
Victoria burst into a shrill, hysterical laugh that echoed up the grand staircase. "Your house? Check the land registry, darling! This mansion belongs to Blackwood Holdings LLC—a company registered under my name! You're a trespasser!"
She reached into the pocket of her silk robe and pulled out a sleek smartphone, rapidly tapping the screen. "I’m calling private security. They have orders to use lethal force on unauthorized intruders."
"Five," Evelyn said coldly.
Julian’s face went entirely pale. He knew that tone. He had heard Evelyn use that tone only once before—when she was directing a joint task force raid on a cartel safehouse in New Haven. He backed away toward the staircase, his hands shaking so hard he dropped his whiskey glass, sending amber liquid and shattered crystal across the stone.
"Victoria... stop," Julian whispered, his voice cracking. "Call off security. You don't know what she’s capable of—"
"Four," Evelyn continued, her gaze locked onto Victoria’s eyes.
"You're bluffing!" Victoria snarled, placing the phone to her ear. "Hello? Security detail? I have an armed trespasser in the main foyer—"
Evelyn didn't wait for "three."
With a movement so fast it seemed almost blur-like, Evelyn reached out with her free right hand, grabbed Victoria by the throat of her champagne silk robe, and yanked her forward. Victoria let out a sharp gasp as her phone flew from her grip, shattering against the base of the grand staircase.
Before Victoria could recover her balance, Evelyn swept her leg behind Victoria’s red high heels. The arrogant mistress hit the marble floor with a heavy, humiliating thud, her luxury silk robe tearing at the shoulder.
"My shoe! My neck!" Victoria shrieked, scrambling backward on her hands and knees like a panicked insect, her polished updo completely unspooling into messy strands.
From the rain outside, heavy boot steps echoed across the wet stone porch. Two uniformed private security guards—hired by Victoria’s family—burst through the open doors, their hands reaching for the tasers on their belts.
"Freeze! Federal agent!" Evelyn roared, her voice carrying the absolute thunder of the US Department of Justice.
With her left arm holding Mia securely against her shoulder, Evelyn used her right hand to draw her badge holder from her belt, flashing the polished gold shield under the chandelier’s light, followed instantly by drawing her SIG Sauer sidearm with practiced, terrifying precision. She aimed the weapon directly at the center mass of the lead guard.
"Step back out those doors right now, or you will be charged with federal obstruction of justice and harboring a fugitive," Evelyn commanded, her voice unshakable. "Read the badge. I am Special Agent Evelyn Thomas, FBI Public Corruption Division. This estate is currently under a federal seizure warrant."
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The two guards froze. They looked at the soaked, blood-chilling intensity of the mother, the gold badge, the loaded firearm, and then down at Victoria weeping frantically on the floor in her ruined silk robe.
Without saying a word, the lead guard stepped backward, grabbed his partner by the tactical vest, and retreated out into the pouring rain, slamming the heavy iron gates behind them.
