Chapter 5 - The Siege of the MansionThe grand estate turned into a war zone within seconds.
Alarm sirens blared through the halls as reinforced steel shutters automatically descended over the mansion's lower floor windows. Daniel’s men took up tactical positions along the grand balcony, returning fire through the reinforced glass entryways.
"Stay in this room, Hannah!" Daniel ordered, racking the slide of his weapon. "The doors are three-inch solid oak with steel core plating. Nobody gets through."
"Daniel, wait!" I cried out, reaching for his arm. "Don't get killed for me!"
He paused, looking down at my hand on his wrist. A faint, genuine warmth softened his harsh features.
"I'm not doing this just for you, Hannah," he said softly, leaning down to press a firm, warm kiss to my forehead. "I'm doing this for Aaron. And for the child who deserves to grow up in a world without monsters."
He stepped out into the hallway, locking the heavy steel doors behind him with a loud, mechanical deadbolt.
For twenty agonizing minutes, I lay in the dark room, listening to the terrifying sounds of battle echoing from the floors below. Glass shattering, heavy boots stomping across marble, shouting men, and the rhythmic, terrifying thunder of gunfire.
My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Suddenly, a loud, metallic grinding sound echoed from the private service elevator in the corner of the bedroom—an elevator meant only for laundry and kitchen deliveries.
The doors slid open with a heavy scrape.
Stepping out from the dark shaft was Julian Whitlock—a tall, silver-haired man in a tailored three-piece suit, holding a silenced pistol in his hand. Beside him was Claire, her expensive silk dress ruined, her eyes wild with a manic, unhinged fury.
"Hello, little maid," Julian Whitlock sneered, pointing the silenced barrel directly at my chest. "Did you really think Daniel Carver’s house could keep us out?"
"You..." I gasped, backing up against the headboard of the bed, instinctively wrapping my arms tightly over my seven-month belly.
"Where is Caleb?" Claire hissed, stepping forward, her fingernails dug into her palms. "Where is your pathetic brother hiding that hard drive?!"
"I don't know!" I yelled, my voice trembling. "I haven't spoken to Caleb in months!"
"Liar!" Claire shrieked, raising her hand as if to strike me again. "You ruined my life! You ruined my wedding! You're nothing but a worthless, pregnant rat!"
"Enough, Claire," Julian commanded cold-bloodedly. "We don't need her to talk. We just need her as leverage. Drag her to the elevator."
Julian took two steps toward my bed.
BANG.
A heavy gunshot shattered the silence of the bedroom.
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Julian Whitlock gasped, his eyes wide with shock, as a tiny red hole appeared in the center of his forehead. He collapsed face-first onto the hardwood floor, his gun sliding across the room.
Standing in the hidden service pantry doorway behind the elevator, holding a smoking antique revolver with both hands, was old Martin Hale.
