Chapter 28 - The Bloodline Fractures
Ethan looked at Victoria through the reinforced glass of the Mercedes driver's window. He didn't flinch. He didn't reach for the door handle.
Instead, he slowly shifted the gear selector into manual sport mode.
"Victoria," Ethan said through the half-inch cracked window, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Our father isn't rotting anywhere. His casket is filled with river sand. The Irish passport Julian secured for him was stamped six months ago. Margaret poisoned him to silence him, but Julian was the one who bought him his escape."
Victoria’s eyes narrowed into slits of venomous suspicion. "You're lying. You're trying to save your little whore’s inheritance."
"Ask yourself one question, Victoria," Olivia shouted from the passenger seat, leaning across the console so Victoria could see her face clearly. "If Julian is your ally... why did his corporate filing in Albany list you as an *interim* trustee with zero voting equity, while Ares Holdings holds ninety-nine percent of the proxy power?"
Victoria froze. Her grip on the pistol tightened, her knuckles turning pale against the black steel. "Shut up!"
"He played you," Ethan said ruthlessly, pressing the psychological knife deeper. "Just like our father played Evelyn. Just like Margaret played Eleanor. Julian doesn't care about you, Victoria. The moment that emergency board meeting concludes in Manhattan, you will be left holding the legal liability for the fraudulent receivership, while Julian boards a private jet to Zurich with the liquidated assets."
"You lie!" Victoria shrieked, raising the pistol directly toward Ethan’s face. "Give me the box!"
Behind them, the four armed guards advanced, their batons swinging up to smash the rear windows.
"Hold on," Ethan whispered to Olivia.
Ethan dropped his foot from the brake and slammed the accelerator to the floorboards.
The twin-turbocharged V8 engine shrieked like a wounded beast. The all-wheel-drive system locked onto the wet gravel, launching the three-ton armored luxury sedan forward like a missile.
Victoria screamed, diving sideways into the roadside ditch as the heavy front bumper of the Mercedes smashed directly into the flank of the commercial flatbed.
The sound was a deafening explosion of tearing sheet metal, shattering radiator plastic, and buckling steel. The flatbed groaned under the impact, its rear axle skidding across the pavement, opening a three-foot gap along the cemetery wall.
Ethan shifted into reverse, tires burning rubber on the wet stone, then threw it back into first gear, tearing through the opening, the right side of the Mercedes scraping violently against the ancient fieldstone wall with a shower of orange sparks.
A gunshot cracked behind them—the bullet ricocheting off the reinforced trunk lid with a dull, hollow *clack*.
Ethan tore through the iron gates of Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, shooting out onto Route 9 at eighty miles an hour, leaving the Escalades and Victoria stranded in the swirling mist behind them.
Olivia exhaled a breath she seemed to have held for minutes, her trembling hands still clutching the rosewood music box against her ribs.
"Ethan..." she whispered, looking at the dashboard clock.
It was 1:15 PM.
The emergency shareholder board meeting at the Sterling Tower in Manhattan was scheduled for precisely 2:00 PM.
May you like
Forty-five minutes to cover thirty-five miles of highway and take down a fifty-year dynasty.
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