Chapter 25 - The Executive Suite of Daniel Vance
Forty-eight floors above the bustling streets of Manhattan, the executive penthouse of Vance International was silent, save for the quiet clink of crystal.
Daniel Vance poured himself three fingers of twenty-five-year-old single malt scotch. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that offered a commanding, panoramic view of Central Park bathed in the afternoon sun. He took a slow sip, savoring the burn in his throat.
Behind him, the heavy mahogany double doors swung open.
Senator Thomas Montgomery walked into the office, his expensive leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the Italian marble floor. The seventy-five-year-old politician looked entirely composed, adjusting the silk tie beneath his tailored blazer.
"The board of directors just unanimously approved the merger, Daniel," Montgomery said, sitting down in one of the plush leather armchairs. "The Department of Justice has signed off on the anti-trust waiver under the Emergency National Defense Clause. By five o'clock today, all four hundred billion in Vance assets will be officially absorbed into our offshore shell accounts."
Daniel turned, a cold, arrogant grin spreading across his face. "Did the cleanup team find Helena’s body in the bay?"
Montgomery waved his hand dismissively. "The lighthouse was leveled by hypersonic ordnance. There wasn't enough left of Blackwood Light to fill a shoebox. If Helena was on that platform, she was vaporized or eaten by the sharks. She was a loose cannon anyway. Her obsession with torturing that little girl was becoming a liability."
Daniel laughed, a dry, cruel sound. "You should have seen the girl's face, father. Watching her crawl on the kitchen floor, begging for a bowl of dry cereal... it was magnificent. That old bastard Arthur thought he was a god, but I had his royal bloodline eating out of a dog bowl."
"Do not let your arrogance blind you, Daniel," Montgomery warned, his voice hardening. "Arthur was a ruthless operator in his prime. And we never recovered the biometric encryption key. The Genesis Ledger is still locked."
"It doesn't matter," Daniel sneered, slamming his scotch glass onto the glass desk. "Once the merger is finalized, we will bypass the Genesis protocol using the congressional defense overrides you secured. We don't need the girl's voice anymore. Lily was just a bargaining chip. Now that she’s at the bottom of the Atlantic, the game belongs to us."
Suddenly, the lights in the executive suite flickered.
The seventy-inch flat-screen television mounted on the wall, which was broadcasting the Bloomberg financial ticker, went dead.
Then, static hissed through the room's multi-million-dollar acoustic sound system.
Daniel frowned, setting his glass down. "What is wrong with the power grid? Call security."
Montgomery stood up, his political instincts sensing immediate danger. "Daniel..."
The massive glass windows behind Daniel suddenly vibrated with a low, bone-shaking hum. Far out over Central Park, a private, blacked-out transport helicopter swept low over the tree canopy, flying well below the FAA legal altitude limit. It didn't have transponder lights. It didn't have markings.
On the television screen, the static snapped away, replaced by a single, high-definition live video feed.
The camera was pointed at a rustic stone fireplace inside a dimly lit room. Sitting before the fire was Arthur Vance, holding a glass of bourbon, looking directly into the camera lens with cold, predatory amusement.
"Good afternoon, Daniel," Arthur’s voice echoed through the high-end speakers of the penthouse. "I see you’re already wearing my suits."
Daniel’s face drained of all color. His scotch glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the polished marble. "No... that's impossible. You burned at Blackwood Light!"
"A lighthouse burns, Daniel. A father’s vengeance does not," Arthur said, his eyes drilling through the screen. "And you forgot the first rule of the Vance family: when you cut the head off a serpent, make sure you don't leave the mother alive."
Arthur stood up from the chair and stepped aside.
Walking into the camera frame was Rachel Vance. She was wearing full combat webbing, her scarred face unmasked, holding an M4 tactical carbine across her chest. Beside her stood Lily, dressed in a black sweater, her small hand resting calmly on her mother’s holster.
Lily looked straight into the camera, her voice ringing clear, steady, and utterly devoid of the fear Daniel had cultivated for months:
May you like
"Hello, Daddy. Did you miss me?"
***
