Chapter 7 - The Sins of the Foster Son
The heavy steel vault door slammed shut with the mechanical weight of a bank safe.
Roman engaged the four manual deadbolts, their massive chrome cylinders sliding deep into the reinforced frame.
Outside in the hallway, the sound of boots and muffled gunfire continued, but inside, the air was dead silent.
The east wing vault had been constructed by Roman’s father during the height of the Cold War.
Its reinforced concrete walls were lined with soundproofing panels and emergency medical cabinets.
A single incandescent emergency bulb hung from the ceiling, casting long, sharp shadows across the room.
Marcus collapsed onto a steel supply bench, groaning as he unzipped his tactical vest.
The bullet had grazed his lower ribs, leaving a ragged, bloody trench across the muscle.
Claire immediately crossed the room, picked up an emergency trauma kit, and began cleaning the wound.
Her hands moved with the seasoned competence of a field surgeon.
Marcus gritted his teeth against the sting of the antiseptic, looking at her with narrow eyes.
"You're no maid, Bennett."
"And you're not doing a very good job protecting this house, Vance," Claire replied coolly without looking up.
Roman stood in the center of the room, staring at Harrison Reed.
Harrison sat huddled on the floor in the corner, his knees pulled up to his chest.
His bespoke white shirt was ruined, smeared with soot and the blood of the mercenary Roman had killed.
"Start talking, Harrison," Roman said.
His voice was dangerously quiet, lacking even the slightest hint of brotherly affection.
Harrison shook his head weakly.
"You don't understand what they did to me."
"Make me understand."
"It wasn't Julian who started the Cyprus network," Harrison whimpered, his voice trembling.
Roman took two slow steps toward him.
"My brother was laundering forty million dollars a month through Limassol."
"Julian was cleaning the money, yes!" Harrison shouted suddenly, looking up with bloodshot eyes.
"But who do you think gave him the corporate routing numbers?"
Roman froze.
"Who, Harrison?"
"The board of directors didn't sign off on that."
Harrison let out a dry, hysterical laugh.
"Your mother did."
The words hung suspended in the chilled air of the bunker.
Marcus stopped breathing.
Claire paused with the suture needle in her gloved hand.
"You're lying to save your skin," Roman said, his knuckles whitening around his shotgun.
"Check the offshore authorizations!" Harrison screamed.
"Eleanor signed the private power of attorney four years ago!"
"She wanted Julian to have his own division outside of your control!"
"She hated the fact that your father left the primary voting shares entirely to you!"
Roman stared down at his foster brother, his chest rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths.
"Julian found out the syndicate wasn't just moving currency," Harrison continued, words spilling out like poison.
"They were moving black-market military ordnance and human cargo through the Black Sea."
"Julian told me he was going to fly to Boston and hand the files directly to you."
"He was going to bring the whole structure down to clear his conscience."
Claire tightened the bandage around Marcus's torso with sudden, violent pressure.
Marcus flinched in pain.
Claire stood up, her eyes burning like white fire.
"And my sister?" Claire asked, taking a step toward Harrison.
"Where does Sarah fit into your filthy family politics?"
Harrison flinched away from Claire’s icy gaze.
"Sarah found the manifest."
"What manifest?"
"The shipping ledger for the vessel that disappeared off Crete."
Harrison buried his face in his trembling hands.
"Julian told her to make three encrypted copies and hide them."
"One copy went to the cloud server."
"The second copy was placed on a physical drive inside Julian's yacht."
"And the third copy?" Claire demanded, leaning down until she was inches from Harrison's nose.
"Sarah kept it on her person."
"When the syndicate learned she had it, they gave me an ultimatum."
Harrison's voice dropped to a barely audible rasp.
"They told me either Sarah Bennett disappears, or they execute my entire family."
"So you sold her out," Claire whispered.
"I didn't kill her!" Harrison sobbed.
"I swear to God, Claire, I didn't pull the trigger!"
"You gave them her location in Nice!"
"I had no choice!"
Roman stepped between Claire and Harrison before she could drive her ceramic blade into his neck.
"Where was the yacht blast organized, Harrison?"
"A private dock in Monaco."
"Who placed the explosive charge beneath the fuel tanks?"
"I don't know!" Harrison wailed.
"Julian suspected everyone."
"He swapped the crew out at the last minute."
"He put a decoy on the bridge and jumped into the water five minutes before the detonator fired."
Roman felt a cold realization settle into his stomach.
Julian had known the assassination was coming.
Julian had staged his own fiery death to vanish off the intelligence radar of both the syndicate and his own family.
For three years, Roman had grieved a ghost.
For three years, Roman had managed an empire while Julian built an underground army in the dark.
Suddenly, the heavy steel door of the vault reverberated with a thunderous metallic strike.
Someone outside was using a hydraulic battering ram against the reinforced hinges.
The heavy bolts groaned inside the concrete frame.
From the ceiling ventilation duct, a faint hissing sound began to spread through the vault.
Claire looked up immediately, her pupils dilating.
"Gas."
"They're pumping an aerosol agent through the HVAC intake."
Roman looked at the ventilation grate, then at the manual air scrubbers on the wall.
The switches had been mechanically disabled from the outside.
May you like
Julian was not trying to break the door down.
Julian was smoking them out like rats in a cellar.
