Chapter 18 - The Siege of Vance Manor
Before I could process her words, the mansion's power grid failed.
Every light in the hallway plunged into absolute darkness.
The low, mechanical hum of the central heating died instantly.
Downstairs, the sharp, shattering crash of broken glass echoed up the grand marble staircase.
The intruders had breached the conservatory.
"They cut the mains," I whispered, reaching into my belt for the emergency tactical flashlight I kept in the hall alcove.
"The backup generator should kick in within sixty seconds."
"They won't wait sixty seconds," June said grimly, scooping Lila up into her arms while I lifted Mateo.
The children stirred, whimpering in the sudden pitch-black cold.
"Shh, Mateo," I whispered, holding the small boy against my chest.
"It's just a game of hide and seek. Stay quiet like a shadow."
We moved through the service corridor behind the bedrooms, avoiding the main staircase.
These were the narrow passageways designed for nineteenth-century servants, completely hidden within the mansion's double walls.
Elena had mapped them out when we renovated the estate ten years ago.
I heard heavy boots walking across the marble floor of the foyer below.
Men speaking in clipped, disciplined monosyllables.
"Clear the parlor."
"Check the master suite."
"The old man wants the ledger and the girl intact."
"The billionaire is expendable."
They were private military contractors.
Ashford hadn't hired petty street thugs; he had hired professionals who operated under the cover of international maritime security.
We reached the landing above the kitchen.
If we could make it across the pantry and through the delivery tunnel that led to the old carriage house, we could reach the utility truck I kept parked by the gardener’s shed.
Suddenly, a bright beam of a high-powered tactical flashlight swept across the kitchen ceiling.
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A man stepped into the kitchen below us, his assault rifle lowered in a low-ready position.
He was standing directly between us and the pantry door.
