Chapter 15 - NIGHT OF THE STORM
Z
A gale-force autumn storm battered the coastline, tearing leaves from the trees and sending violent, roaring waves crashing against the stone breakwater of Sterling Lake. Rain hammered against the reinforced glass windows of the main house like handfuls of thrown gravel.
It was 11:30 PM. The press conference scheduled for the following morning had generated a massive media storm across the state. Edward Thorne’s legal team had filed three emergency motions to slap a gag order on me, but Judge Thomas had denied every single one, ruling that the public had a right to hear the trust’s official response.
I stood in Arthur’s study, wearing a dark woolen sweater, reviewing the court filings with Detective Ramirez. Eleanor had left two hours earlier to finalize the federal indictment paperwork with the Assistant U.S. Attorney.
“The perimeter motion sensors are active, Nora,” Ramirez said, checking his tactical tablet monitor. “I have four private security guards posted at the main entrance gates and two patrolling the boathouse. Thorne knows we have the flash drive. He’s cornered, and cornered men do desperate things.”
“He won't attack directly, Ramirez,” I said, looking out into the pitch-black night. “A man like Thorne uses surrogates. He lets other people take the risks while he stays clean.”
Suddenly, the lights throughout the house flickered twice and died, plunging the room into total darkness.
A second later, the backup generator in the basement kicked on with a low, mechanical hum, illuminating the emergency floor tracks with soft amber light. But almost instantly, a loud, high-pitched alarm began to blare from the main security console on the wall.
WARNING: BASEMENT SERVICE ENTRANCE BREACHED.
WARNING: EXTERNAL HARDWARE INTERFERENCE DETECTED.
Ramirez pulled his 9mm sidearm from his holster in a single fluid motion. “Stay behind me, Nora! Don't move from this room!”
“No!” I said, grabbing a heavy brass flashlight from the desk. “The basement service door connects directly to Arthur’s private archive room! They aren't trying to hurt us, Ramirez—they’re trying to burn the original paper ledgers!”
We moved quickly through the amber-lit hallway. Ramirez signaled for the external guards via his radio, but static hissed violently through the speaker—Thorne’s operatives were using a localized radio frequency jammer to disrupt our communications.
We reached the top of the basement stairs—the very stairs where Victoria had shoved me months ago. I felt a brief, instinctive shudder run down my spine, but I shoved the fear down, gripping the solid brass handrail as we descended into the lower level.
At the bottom of the stairs, the heavy steel security door leading to Arthur’s archive room had been forced open with a hydraulic jack. Inside, two figures dressed in black tactical gear and ski masks were violently pulling leather binders from the shelves, dousing them in lighter fluid from plastic cans.
“Police! Drop the fuel! On the ground now!” Ramirez roared, leveling his sidearm at the intruders.
The first intruder turned instantly, raising a heavy tactical stun gun and firing. The electrical prongs struck Ramirez square in the vest. The high-voltage charge surged through him, causing him to collapse to the floor, gasping for breath as his weapon skidded across the concrete floor.
The second intruder pulled a road flare from his tactical vest, struck the igniter, and raised it toward the fluid-soaked floor!
“No!” I screamed.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed a heavy, forty-pound steel fire extinguisher mounted on the basement wall beside me, pulled the safety pin, and drove the nozzle forward. I squeezed the lever with all my strength.
A massive, roaring cloud of white chemical foam erupted from the nozzle, striking the second intruder square in the chest and face! The force of the pressurized spray knocked the flare from his hand, driving him backward into the wall, blinding and choking him instantly.
The first intruder lunged toward me, reaching for my throat.
I swung the heavy steel cylinder of the fire extinguisher in a wide, powerful arc, catching the man flush against his helmeted head! The heavy impact shattered his visor, sending him crashing onto his back over the workbench, unconscious.
I immediately turned the fire extinguisher onto the sputtering flare on the floor, dousing the chemical flames in a thick blanket of smothering foam before the fire could catch the alcohol-soaked ledgers.
Silence returned to the basement, broken only by the hum of the generator and Ramirez’s heavy, agonizing gasps as he pulled the stun prongs from his vest.
I knelt beside Ramirez, helping him sit up against the wall. “Ramirez! Are you okay?”
“I’m... I’m good,” Ramirez wheezed, coughing heavily as he rubbed his chest. He looked at the two unconscious intruders lying in the chemical foam, then looked up at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Nora... you just took down two professional fixers with a fire extinguisher.”
I stood up, holding the heavy steel extinguisher in my hand, looking down at the men Thorne had sent to destroy my family’s history.
“They picked the wrong house,” I said softly.
Ten minutes later, four county squad cars arrived, their red and blue lights flashing wildly through the rain-slicked driveway. The two intruders were handcuffed, unmasked, and searched.
In the pocket of the lead operative, Ramirez found an encrypted satellite phone. The last outgoing call, logged just fifteen minutes prior, was to a private number registered directly to Edward Thorne’s personal penthouse suite.
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Detective Ramirez looked at the phone screen, then looked at me with a cold, triumphant smile.
“We don't just have the forgery now, Nora,” Ramirez said, snapping the phone into a forensic evidence bag. “We have Edward Thorne for commercial arson, conspiracy, and attempted murder.”
