Chapter 3 - The Desperate Counter-Attack
The news of the Hastings Group's medical fraud scandal exploded across the media like a nuclear bomb. The stock of their company plummeted by seventy percent in a single day, wiping out decades of generational wealth. Chloe Hastings was denied bail due to the severity of the chemical assault charge and the flight risk posed by her family's private jet. She was currently sitting in a stark, cold holding cell, awaiting trial.
Meanwhile, Julian was placed under house arrest with an ankle monitor, his medical license suspended indefinitely.
But rats are most dangerous when they are cornered.
It was a Tuesday evening, and I was working late at the Vance Foundation headquarters, reviewing the transition of the new, legitimate medical supply contracts. The office was quiet, the glass walls showing the twinkling lights of the city.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was an restricted number. I usually ignore them, but something told me to answer this one.
"Clara," a ragged, trembling voice came through the speaker. It was Julian. He sounded completely broken, a far cry from the arrogant doctor who used to look down on me. "Clara, please don't hang up. I beg you. I'm begging for my life."
"You have nothing to say to me, Julian," I said, my hand hovering over the end-call button.
"Wait! Just sixty seconds, please!" he cried out, coughing heavily. "Chloe’s father... Marcus... he’s insane, Clara. He’s planning something desperate. He blames you for everything. He knows he’s going to jail, so he’s trying to take you down with him. He hired someone."
I paused, my fingers freezing. "What are you talking about?"
"Marcus has deep ties to the underground networks from his early importing days," Julian whispered, his voice shaking with genuine fear. "He found out that your mother didn't just leave the Vance family peacefully. There was a secret... a hidden asset registry that your mother took with her. A document that proves Arthur Vance doesn't legally own the majority shares of the foundation. Marcus has a copy of it. He’s going to release it tonight to the media to destroy the Vance stock and force Arthur to step down. And... and he’s sent men to your office right now to get the original from your mother’s old safe in the archives."
Before I could ask another question, the glass doors at the end of the executive floor shattered with a deafening crash.
Alarms instantly began to blare throughout the building. The lights flickered and turned to a deep, pulsing red emergency mode.
"Clara? Clara! Did they get there?!" Julian shouted through the phone, but I dropped the device.
Through the shattered glass doors, three men in dark tactical gear and masks entered the floor. They weren't common thieves; their movements were precise, coordinated. They carried silenced firearms.
I scrambled behind my heavy mahogany desk, my heart hammering against my ribs. The security team at the Vance headquarters was elite, but the attackers had chosen a specific shift change window. They had inside help.
"Find the girl," a harsh voice ordered from the hallway. "Marcus wants her alive if possible, but the document is the priority. Check the executive archive room."
The archive room was right behind my office. It held my mother's personal effects, which Arthur had brought over just two days ago. I realized with a jolt of panic that if they found the document Julian mentioned, my uncle’s entire empire could collapse, and my mother’s legacy would be tainted.
I couldn't just hide. I had to protect it.
Slipping off my high heels, I crept along the dark wall toward the archive room. The emergency red lights cast long, ominous shadows across the floor. I reached the archive door just as one of the gunmen rounded the corner.
"Hey! She’s here!" he yelled, raising his weapon.
Without thinking, I grabbed a heavy crystal award from a display shelf and hurled it with all my strength. It struck him squarely in the face, smashing his tactical goggles and sending him crashing to the floor, his gun skittering away across the polished wood.
I dove into the archive room and slammed the heavy electronic security door shut, hitting the emergency lock. The thick steel bolts slid into place just as a hail of bullets impacted the outside of the door, sparks flying through the reinforced glass viewing panel.
"Open the damn door!" the gunman screamed from the other side, kicking the metal. "Bring the thermal breach! We have three minutes before the city police arrival!"
Inside the dark archive room, I rushed to my mother's old leather trunk. My hands shook violently as I tried to remember the combination. It was a date. Not her birthday, not mine.
The date she left the Vance mansion to protect me.
October 14th. 1-0-1-4.
The lock clicked open. Inside, beneath old photo albums and silk scarves, was a sealed, wax-stamped iron box. I lifted it out. It was incredibly heavy.
Outside, a loud, sizzling sound began. They were using a thermite torch to burn through the electronic lock of the archive door. The air began to smell of burning ozone and melting steel. The sparks were illuminating the room through the glass panel.
I was trapped. There was no other exit.
"Clara! Hold on!" A powerful, familiar voice suddenly echoed from the hallway outside, followed by the rapid, heavy thud of tactical boots and the sharp crack of stun grenades.
The security forces hadn't failed. They had just arrived with reinforcements.
Through the glass, I saw a flash of brilliant white light, followed by the sounds of a brutal, close-quarters struggle. Screams of pain, the clattering of dropped weapons, and finally, silence.
The door didn't burn open. Instead, the override code was punched in from the outside. The heavy steel door swung open, revealing Director Rodriguez and a team of heavily armed, elite Vance security contractors.
Standing right behind them was a young man I hadn't expected to see—Ethan Vance, my uncle Arthur’s adopted son and the chief legal counsel for the empire. He looked disheveled, his coat torn, holding a heavy security baton.
"Clara!" Ethan rushed forward, catching me as my legs finally gave out from the adrenaline crash. He checked me over, his eyes filled with intense anxiety. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"
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"I'm fine," I gasped, clutching the iron box to my chest. "I have it. The document Marcus wanted."
Ethan looked at the box, his expression darkening. "Marcus Hastings just played his last card, and he played it wrong. He didn't realize that we already anticipated his move. Come on. We need to get you to a safe location. Tonight, the Hastings name is erased forever."
