Chapter 5 - The Trap
"Get away from us!" I pulled Ethan behind my back, pressing my body against the wall of the bedroom. My heart was pounding so fast I could barely catch my breath. "Adrian will kill you for this, Julian!"
Julian chuckled softly, stepping further into the room as his armed guards spread out, securing the exits. "Adrian is currently trapped in the boardroom of Blackwood Global's headquarters in downtown Los Angeles, surrounded by federal agents I personally tipped off regarding bogus financial fraud charges. By the time his legal team clears him, you and the boy will be halfway across the world."
"He won't let you get away with this!" I spat, tears of rage blinding my vision.
"Adrian is sentimental. That has always been his greatest flaw," Julian said calmly, adjusting the cuff of his jacket. "He thought he could protect you in this fortress. He didn't realize that I bought off his chief of security three years ago. Money talks, my dear Claire. It always has."
Julian motioned to two of his guards. "Take the boy."
"No! Touch him and I'll kill you!" I grabbed a heavy brass lamp from the nightstand, holding it up like a weapon, positioning myself between the men and my son.
Ethan was sobbing, clinging tightly to the back of my jeans. "Mommy, I'm scared!"
"It's okay, baby, look at me, don't look at them!" I whispered fiercely.
"Claire, don't be foolish," Julian sighed, raising his silenced weapon and pointing it directly at my chest. "I have no desire to kill you. You are a useful bargaining chip. But if you make this difficult, I will shoot you in the leg and drag the boy away while you watch."
I stared into his lifeless eyes and knew he meant every word. The same cold, sociopathic pragmatism that Arthur Blackwood had used to drive me away seven years ago lived inside his brother.
Slowly, lowering the lamp, I raised my hands. "Don't hurt him. Please. I'll come with you peacefully. Just don't hurt my son."
"A sensible mother," Julian murmured. "Bind her hands."
One of the guards stepped forward, roughly pulling my arms behind my back and securing my wrists with a heavy plastic zip-tie. Another guard picked up Ethan, who screamed and kicked, trying to reach me.
"Mommy!"
"I'm right here, Ethan! I'm right here! Don't fight them!" I yelled, trying to keep my voice steady to calm him as we were marched through the smoke-filled hallway of the compound.
We were led out through a subterranean service tunnel that opened up to a hidden helipad in the ravine behind the property. A black, unmarked helicopter was idling, its rotor blades whipping the foggy mountain air into a frenzy.
We were forced into the back of the aircraft. The doors slammed shut, and within seconds, the helicopter lifted off into the thick gray clouds, leaving the burning Malibu compound behind.
Meanwhile, in the top-floor boardroom of Blackwood Tower in downtown Los Angeles.
Adrian stood at the head of the massive glass conference table, surrounded by six armed federal marshals and two SEC investigators. On the screen behind him, stock tickers flashed red, but Adrian didn't care about the stocks. His attention was fixed on his phone, which was ringing endlessly with no response from the Vault.
"Mr. Blackwood, we have a warrant for your financial records regarding the tax shelters in the Cayman Islands," the lead marshal declared, holding up a yellow document. "You need to come with us to the federal building."
"I don't give a damn about your warrant," Adrian said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. He stepped toward the lead marshal.
"Sir, stand down!" the marshal warned, reaching for his holster.
Before the officer could react, Adrian's hand shot out, grabbing the man's wrist, twisting it sharply, and disarming him in a single fluid motion. Before the other officers could raise their weapons, four of Adrian's loyal executive guards, who had been standing at the rear of the boardroom, drew their sidearms and trained them on the federal agents.
"Everyone stay calm!" Adrian commanded, holding the disarmed marshal's gun pointed at the floor. He stepped back toward his desk and picked up his private radio terminal. "Marcus! Report!"
Static hissed over the speaker. Then, a bloody, ragged voice came through.
"Mr. Blackwood... it's... it's Marcus..."
Adrian's heart stopped. "Marcus! What happened?"
"Julian... he knew the entry codes..." Marcus coughed painfully over the radio. "He breached the residence... he took Mrs. Bennett... and the child... they took off in a choppper... heading north..."
The phone in Adrian's hand cracked under the pressure of his grip. A aura of raw, terrifying rage radiated from him so intensely that even the federal agents in the room backed away.
Julian had taken his wife. Julian had taken his son.
Adrian tossed the marshal's gun onto the table and turned to his head of executive operations. "Call the strike team. Activate the satellite tracking chip I embedded in Julian's private aircraft three months ago."
May you like
"Sir?" the head of operations asked, surprised. "You knew he had a hidden helicopter?"
"I knew my uncle was a snake," Adrian said, his gray eyes turning entirely black with fury. "I was waiting for him to make a move. Ready the helicopter on the roof. We're going to hunt."
