Chapter 31 - The shatter line
The high-intensity searchlights washed the library in blinding white radiance, turning the coastal rain into streaks of silver. Garrett did not hesitate. He lunged forward, grabbing Maya by the shoulders and slamming her down behind the mahogany desk just as the center pane of reinforced glass detonated inward.
A deafening percussion wave tore through the room. Shards of crystal rained down like daggers, slicing into the leather upholstery and embedding deep into the antique bookshelves. Margaret screamed, her hands clamped over her ears as the rhythmic, thundering chop of rotor blades rattled the manor’s stone foundation.
Marcus was already moving. He drew his tactical sidearm from his shoulder holster, keeping his center of gravity low as he pulled Margaret behind the reinforced archway of the adjoining hallway.
"Garrett! Take the service lift!" Marcus roared over the roar of the engines. "They aren't here to negotiate! Those aren't corporate fixers, they're private military contractors!"
Garrett tightened his grip on Maya’s hand. Her pulse was racing wildly against his palm, but her eyes were steady. She wasn’t the trembling waitress who had been framed on the polished marble floor of the ballroom weeks ago. The survival instincts that had kept her alive on the streets for over two decades were fully awake.
"The phone call," Maya whispered, her voice cutting sharp through the chaos. "He said they were waiting for Arthur to fail. Arthur didn't want me dead, Garrett. He kept me alive because without me, he couldn't touch the syndicate's treasury."
"And now Arthur is gone, which means the syndicates are taking direct custody," Garrett replied grimly. He peeked over the splintered edge of the desk.
Through the shattered window frame, black-clad tactical operators were already fast-roping onto the terrace from the lowest helicopter. Their rifles were fitted with infrared scopes, red lasers cutting through the sea mist.
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Suddenly, an ear-splitting pop sounded from the driveway below. A crimson flare shot into the sky, followed by the screech of armored tires and rapid automatic gunfire. The transport van carrying Arthur Weston had never made it past the front gates.
👉 Marcus fired three suppressive rounds toward the terrace door, grabbing Garrett's arm as the estate’s power grid abruptly died, plunging the entire estate into pitch darkness.
