Chapter 14 - Blood in the Penthouse
The rain over Manhattan turned to needles of ice as Arthur’s armored SUV pulled up to the curb.
The glass tower of the Sterling Financial Group pierced the low storm clouds like a jagged tooth.
Julian Vance, the prominent society broker who had personally introduced Arthur to "Clara" at a charity gala six months ago, lived on the seventy-fourth floor.
Arthur stepped out into the biting wind, flanked by four former military contractors carrying concealed sidearms.
"Keep the engine running," Arthur instructed the driver. "If we aren't down in ten minutes, breach the lobby."
The private express elevator rose silently, the altitude popping in Arthur’s ears.
The doors chimed and slid open directly into a sprawling, two-story penthouse overlooking Central Park.
The room was pitch black, save for the blue lightning flashes illuminating the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The air smelled of copper and expensive scotch.
"Mr. Hawthorne," a voice gasped from the shadows near the terrace doors.
Arthur drew his weapon, motioning his men to sweep the perimeter.
Julian Vance was pinned to his Italian leather armchair by a six-inch steel combat knife through his thigh.
His silk shirt was soaked in blood, his breathing shallow and wet.
Arthur stepped into the pale city light, lowering his gun slightly as he approached the dying broker.
"You vouched for her," Arthur said, his voice void of human warmth. "You forged her lineage, Julian."
Vance let out a broken, wet laugh, coughing up dark red foam onto his collar.
"I didn't... have a choice, Arthur," Vance wheezed, his eyes rolling back toward his ceiling.
"Who paid you?" Arthur asked, pressing his thumb firmly into the edge of the knife wound.
Vance screamed, a jagged sound that echoed off the glass walls.
"Not paid!" Vance cried out, tears washing through the blood on his cheeks. "Blackmailed! They had my daughter!"
"Who has her?"
"The sister..." Vance choked out, his fingers clawing at the leather upholstery. "The real one. She was in the crowd today, Arthur."
Arthur froze, the hairs on his arms standing on end.
"In the church?"
"Sitting in row four... behind the ambassador," Vance whispered, his voice fading to a thread. "She watched you kill her proxy."
May you like
A burner phone sitting on the glass coffee table beside Vance suddenly lit up, vibrating with a harsh buzz.
The caller ID displayed no number, only three words: *The Grand Ballroom.*
