Chapter 12 - Ash on the Estate Grounds
The heavy rain began to fall just as Detective Hale’s unmarked cruiser screeched past the wrought-iron gates of the Brooks estate.
Natalie sat strapped securely in the back seat, wrapped in a thick wool blanket over her hospital gown, defying every medical directive to remain bedridden.
She had refused to stay behind like a helpless victim while Daniel turned her childhood home into an inferno.
Evelyn sat beside her, clutching Natalie’s cold fingers in a vise-like grip as the red and blue flashing lights painted the wet asphalt in vibrant hues.
Through the downpour, the grand stone manor loomed like a wounded giant.
Thick, oily black smoke poured out of the upper windows of the west wing, where her father's private study had remained locked since the day of his funeral.
Fire trucks were already battling the roaring blaze, high-pressure water hoses cutting through the darkness with hissing plumes of white steam.
"Stay inside this vehicle until the tactical perimeter is declared secure," Hale commanded, drawing his service weapon and racking the slide before stepping out into the storm.
Natalie leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the flames consume the oak-paneled walls of her father’s sanctuary.
"He knew the cloud files were out," Natalie whispered, her voice hollow.
"This isn't about hiding evidence anymore."
"This is Daniel throwing a tantrum because he lost the throne."
Evelyn stared through the rain at the front portico, where two uniformed officers were dragging a soot-covered figure across the lawn in handcuffs.
"Look," Evelyn urged, pointing through the wipers.
Natalie squinted through the water droplets.
It wasn't Daniel.
It was Arthur Vance, Daniel’s elderly, impeccably dressed father, coughing violently as the officers forced him onto his knees on the wet grass.
The patriarch of Vance Enterprises looked broken, his fine gray suit soaked in mud and diesel fuel.
Natalie unlocked the car door and pushed it open, stepping out into the cold downpour despite the agonizing pull across her surgical dressing.
"Natalie, no!" Evelyn cried, hurrying after her with an umbrella.
Natalie walked deliberately through the mud, her bare feet numb against the wet grass, stopping three paces in front of the kneeling patriarch.
Arthur Vance slowly raised his gray head, his eyes bloodshot from smoke, a twisted look of shame and defiance warring across his wrinkled face.
"Natalie..." the old man rasped, spitting out a mouthful of ash.
"You should have kept your head down, girl."
"Your father had the good sense to keep you ignorant."
Natalie looked down at the man who had sat at her family's Thanksgiving table for two decades.
"Where is Daniel, Arthur?" she asked, her voice calm, level, and utterly terrifying in its lack of emotion.
Arthur let out a wet, rattling chuckle that turned into a hacking cough.
"He’s already gone, child."
"He took the private cutter out of the marina twenty minutes ago."
"By the time your detective friends scramble a coast guard interceptor, Daniel will be aboard an unregistered container vessel in international waters."
Natalie knelt down slowly, matching Arthur’s eye level until he was forced to see his own ruin mirrored in her pupils.
"He won't make it to international waters, Arthur."
"Because the port authorities didn't get a warrant from the local police."
"They got an emergency maritime seizure order from the federal task force five minutes ago."
Arthur’s arrogant smirk froze, his jaw going slack as the full gravity of her statement sank into his mind.
"You didn't just upload the financial records," Arthur whispered in horror.
"I uploaded the shipping manifests for tonight's scheduled departures," Natalie confirmed, her voice cutting through the hiss of the fire hoses.
"Every harbor, every dock, every offshore vessel tied to Vance Enterprises is currently being boarded by federal agents."
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"Daniel didn't run to an escape hatch, Arthur."
"He ran straight into an ambush."
