Chapter 7
Z
The heavy oak front doors of the lodge exploded inward under the force of a breaching charge, scattering splintered wood and iron hinges across the great room. Smoke rolled in through the shattered frame, carrying with it the sharp smell of cordite and the freezing Vermont mountain air.
Agent Miller and her two federal officers immediately opened fire into the doorway, the rapid bang-bang-bang of their sidearms echoing deafeningly against the high timber ceilings. Outside, return fire rattled off the thick log walls, chewing through plaster and shattering the glass display cases.
One of the federal guards took a round to the shoulder, collapsing against the stone fireplace with a groan, blood staining his navy vest.
"Fall back to the corridor!" Miller shouted over the roaring alarms, laydown suppressive fire as she dragged her wounded agent toward the inner hallway where Eleanor and Madison were cowering in terror.
Through the thick curtain of smoke in the doorway, three heavily armed men in dark winter tactical gear stepped into the lodge, their assault rifles raised. But right behind them, wearing a stolen heavy security parka and holding a chrome revolver, walked Robert Vance.
My father looked unhinged. His hair was matted with sweat and rain, his eyes bloodshot and wide with a psychotic, manic energy. The dignified, controlling patriarch of Connecticut high society was completely gone; in his place was a cornered rat willing to burn the entire world to survive.
"Emily!" Robert roared, his voice cutting through the ringing alarms. "Show yourself, you ungrateful little bitch! I know you're in here!"
I stepped out from behind the heavy oak dining table in the center of the room, racking the tactical shotgun with a heavy, deliberate metallic slide that echoed above the chaos.
Robert froze, his eyes locking onto mine. A cruel, twisted sneer spread across his face as he looked at my face, at the shotgun in my hands, and at the cold, dead detachment in my eyes.
"Look at you," Robert mocked, stepping over the debris on the floor, his revolver aimed loosely at my chest. "Playing soldier. You think holding a gun makes you strong? You're still the weak, worthless girl who couldn't even stand up to her own mother at dinner."
"And you're the cowardly fraud who let a syndicate buy his soul," I said, my voice terrifyingly level. "You sold your wife, you sold your daughters, and now you're clearing their hitmen's paths."
"I built an empire!" Robert shouted, his face contorting with rage. "I gave you a roof over your head! I gave Madison her future! And you destroyed it all in two months because your delicate little feelings were hurt!"
Behind me, in the hallway alcove, Eleanor let out a terrified sob. Robert heard it, his eyes flicking toward the shadow where his wife and elder daughter were hiding.
"Eleanor!" Robert yelled toward the hall. "Get out here! Tell your precious social-worker daughter what happens to people who cross me!"
Eleanor slowly crept into the edge of the room, clutching her chest, her body shaking so violently she could barely stand. "Robert... please... stop this. The FBI is everywhere. It's over!"
"It's not over until I get the biometric code!" Robert spat, turning his gun back to me. "Give me your thumb, Emily. Scannable on my phone tablet right now, or I swear to God I will put a bullet through your mother's knees, and then I'll take Madison!"
From the hallway, Madison let out a shrill scream of horror. "Dad! No! Please!"
I looked at my father, then glanced at Eleanor, who was looking at me with eyes full of desperate, pathetic pleading. She wanted me to save her. She wanted the daughter she had battered and abused to sacrifice everything to keep her safe from the monster she had married.
"Do it, Emily," Eleanor whimpered, tears pouring down her cheeks. "Give him the code! Please! He'll kill us!"
I took a slow step forward, raising the shotgun until the heavy steel barrel was pointed directly at Robert's chest.
"You really don't get it, do you, Dad?" I said softly. "You think I came out here to protect them?"
Robert frowned, a momentary flicker of uncertainty crossing his manic eyes. "What?"
"I don't care if you kill them," I whispered, the words falling like ice blocks onto the floor. "And I don't care if you kill me. But you are never, ever getting that money."
Before Robert could pull his trigger, I didn't shoot him. I aimed the shotgun down at the floorboards beneath his feet—where the main propane heating line ran from the basement to the fireplace—and pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
The heavy 12-gauge slug ripped through the floor, severing the high-pressure gas line. A massive jet of ignited blue flame erupted from the floorboards, throwing Robert backward into the wall as a fireball consumed the center of the room.
The shockwave knocked Eleanor to the ground and sent the remaining Bratva operatives scrambling toward the shattered doorway as smoke and fire rapidly engulfed the wooden lodge.
"Out! Everyone out!" Agent Miller yelled, grabbing Eleanor and Madison by their collars and dragging them through the rear emergency exit into the pouring rain.
I stood in the burning room, the heat blistering my skin, watching through the wall of orange flame as Robert scrambled on his hands and knees, screaming as the fire caught the sleeve of his parka. He beat at the flames, rolling on the floor, before looking up at me through the wall of fire.
"Emily! Help me!" he shrieked, his voice cracking with agony and primal fear. "Help your father!"
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I looked at him through the dancing flames, holding the shotgun at my side. I didn't move an inch. I stood there, watching him burn, until Agent Miller reached through the smoke, grabbed my arm, and violently pulled me backward out the rear door into the freezing night.
Behind us, the timber lodge exploded into a towering inferno, illuminating the dark Vermont woods in brilliant, terrifying gold.
