"If the Person Who Killed Genevieve Learns I'm Here, None of Us Will Survive Tonight": When a Billionaire's Twins Had Ten Days to Live, a Penniless Woman's Silver Necklace Triggered Total Destruction

Prescott stood by the central tactical table, pulling up a digital map of downtown Chicago on the holographic display.

"If Elena’s intel is correct," Prescott said, tapping a blinking red dot near the industrial district along the Chicago River, "the Vanguard Group is operating out of an abandoned cold-storage facility owned by one of their front corporations, Meridian Logistics. That’s where they’re holding the synthetic stabilizer."

I stood in front of the weapons rack, methodically stripping down a Sig Sauer MPX submachine gun, checking the bolt carrier group, and slamming a thirty-round magazine into the housing with a satisfying, metallic click.

My movements were cold, precise, and devoid of fear. Fear was a luxury for men who had options. I had none.

Elena walked into the armory, wearing a dark tactical turtleneck and cargo pants Prescott had scavenged for her. She looked at the racks of high-powered rifles and combat knives with a grim expression.

"You're not planning to storm a Vanguard facility with three guards and a submachine gun, are you?" Elena asked, crossing her arms. "Meridian Logistics is a fortress. They have private security contractors, biometric locks, and internal monitoring systems tied directly into the city grid."

I racked the charging handle of the MPX, letting the bolt snap forward with a sharp crack, and looked up.

"I built this estate to withstand a military siege, Ms. Ward," I said quietly, walking over to the tactical table. "And the men running Meridian Logistics are about to find out what happens when you wake a sleeping bear. Prescott, assemble the alpha team. Four tactical SUVs, heavy armor, and thermal optics. We roll out in fifteen minutes."

"Boss," Prescott hesitated, looking at me with genuine concern. "If this is a trap set by the syndicate—if they anticipated you coming after the antidote—they could use Genevieve as bait to wipe us out in one stroke."

"Then I’ll burn their entire facility to the ground before I let them touch her," I replied, my voice brooking zero argument.

I turned my gaze to Elena. "You stay here. In the bunker. If I don't return by dawn, Prescott has instructions to fly my children and you out of the country on my private jet."

Elena stepped closer, her dark eyes flashing with a stubborn fire that reminded me uncomfortably of the woman I had loved and mourned for two years.

"I didn't survive a manhunt across three states just to sit in a concrete box while you play cowboy, Mr. Mercer," Elena said firmly. "I know the facility layout. I know the biometric security overrides. You need me if you want to get inside Genevieve's holding lab without triggering the facility's self-destruct purge."

I stared at her for a long, hard moment, weighing the risk. Then I tossed her a tactical sidearm and a spare magazine.

"Can you shoot?" I asked.

Elena caught the pistol cleanly, checking the safety with practiced familiarity. "I worked in an underground genetic lab run by ruthless corporate criminals, Mr. Mercer. What do you think?"