702 "Chapter 1: The Child Who Touched His Wheelchair

"Stay behind me!" Nathan commanded instantly, his romantic gentleness instantly vanishing, replaced by the lethal instincts of a man who had survived a dozen street wars.

He spun his wheelchair around, reaching beneath the lip of his heavy mahogany desk. With a metallic click, he disengaged a hidden magnetic latch and pulled out a sleek, black Sig Sauer 9mm handgun.

"Nathan!" Claire gasped, stepping back, her hands covering her mouth.

"The safe room is behind the bookcase in the nursery," Nathan ordered, racking the slide of the pistol with practiced, terrifying speed. "Get Lily and lock the door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me or Marcus. Go!"

"I'm not leaving you!" Claire yelled over the deafening blare of the security sirens.

"Claire, execute the order!" Nathan roared, his eyes blazing with absolute authority. "Protect our daughter!"

The words our daughter struck Claire like a physical force, but there was no time to process them. Gunfire rattled from the main foyer downstairs—the heavy, rhythmic thud of automatic weapons.

Claire turned and sprinted out of the study, racing down the long carpeted hallway toward the nursery.

Meanwhile, Nathan pushed his wheelchair out into the second-floor gallery overlooking the grand foyer.

Down below, through the smoke of flashbang grenades, four men dressed in tactical gear and black ski masks were advancing across the marble floor. Marcus and two Moretti-trained security guards were returning fire from behind the marble pillars, but they were pinned down.

Standing near the shattered front doors, wearing a dark trench coat and holding a silenced pistol, was Grant Holloway.

"Grant!" Nathan’s voice boomed down from the balcony, louder than the alarm sirens.

Grant looked up, his face illuminated by the flashing red emergency lights. The mask of the loyal friend was completely gone, replaced by a cold, desperate malice.

"You should have died on Wacker Drive, Nathan!" Grant shouted up at him over the sound of gunfire. "You were supposed to bleed out in that SUV! But you just wouldn't die! You sat in that chair for two years, holding onto an empire you couldn't even run!"

"I built this empire, Grant!" Nathan snarled, leaning over the brass railing of the balcony, training his firearm down at his former friend. "And I gave you everything!"

"You gave me scraps!" Grant screamed back, his voice cracked with years of bitter resentment. "I did the work! I managed the politicians! I handled the shipments! While you played the dark king, I was the one making us rich! And then you bring a housemaid and a bastard child into this house and start talking about changing the company?!"

Grant raised his silenced weapon and fired three rapid shots up at the balcony.

Bullets splintered the wooden handrail inches from Nathan's head. Nathan ducked, spinning his wheelchair back behind a heavy stone pillar.

"Clear the upper floor!" Grant ordered his mercenaries. "Find the woman and the kid! Use them to make him sign the transfer papers!"

Down in the nursery, Claire had pulled a crying Lily out of her bed, wrapping her in a heavy blanket.

"Mommy, what's that loud noise?!" Lily sobbed, burying her face in Claire's neck.

"It's just a game, baby, a loud game," Claire whispered through her own tears, sprinting toward the heavy bookshelf near the wall.

She pressed the hidden release button behind a wooden carving. The bookshelf swung open with a heavy pneumatic hiss, revealing a small, reinforced room illuminated by strip lighting.

Claire rushed inside, holding Lily tight, and slammed her hand against the interior lock button. The heavy steel door slid shut, sealing them in absolute silence just as footsteps pounded down the hallway outside.

Back on the second-floor gallery, Nathan maneuvered his wheelchair with astonishing speed and precision. He maneuvered behind the stone pillars, utilizing the elevation advantage to fire down upon the intruders.

TAK! TAK!

Nathan fired two precise shots. One mercenary collapsed over the marble fountain; another dropped near the main staircase.

"Marcus! Move to the west pillar!" Nathan yelled down to his security chief.

Marcus lunged forward, returning fire, taking out the third mercenary.

Seeing his men fall, Grant realized the assault was collapsing. His eyes went wild with panic. He sprinted toward the service stairs leading up to the second floor, intent on finding the nursery himself.

Nathan heard the service door bang open. He spun his wheelchair around, positioning himself in the middle of the narrow hallway just as Grant burst through the doors, gun raised.

The two men who had built an empire together stared at each other across ten feet of carpet.

"It's over, Grant," Nathan said, his voice flat and dead. His pistol was pointed directly at Grant's chest.

Grant was shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You can't shoot me, Nathan. You don't have it in you. I pulled you from that burning car!"

"You pulled me out so you could control my money," Nathan said, his gray eyes colder than ice. "You crippled me, Grant. You took my legs. You took two years of my life."

"I made you!" Grant shrieked, raising his gun.

BANG!

A single gunshot echoed through the narrow hallway.

Grant’s gun clattered to the carpet. He stumbled backward, staring down at his leg in shock. Nathan’s bullet had struck him precisely in the kneecap.

Grant collapsed onto the floor, clutching his ruined leg, screaming in agony. "My leg! My leg!"

Nathan rolled his wheelchair forward until he was stopping directly over his bleeding former friend. He reached down, coldly kicking Grant’s weapon out of reach.

"Now you know what it feels like," Nathan whispered softly.

Marcus rushed up the stairs, his weapon drawn, followed by local police officers whose sirens were now wailing down the long driveway outside the estate.