Chapter 8 - Desperate Measures
Two days had passed since the gala. The fallout had been catastrophic for Robert and Ethan.
The local news had picked up the story with relentless fervor: *“Prominent Logistics Titan Ousted Amid Extortion & Gambling Scandal.”* The corporate board had moved with surgical precision under Vance’s guidance, securing every warehouse, rekeying every office, and terminating every crony Robert had placed on the payroll.
Robert was currently holed up in a cheap motel near the highway, his personal credit cards declining at every turn. Eleanor had fled to her sister’s home in Vermont, too humiliated to show her face in the city.
I was sitting in the executive library of Walter’s estate, reviewing the audit reports. The numbers were staggering. In the last four years alone, Robert had siphoned over three million dollars from corporate contingency funds to quietly settle Ethan’s unpaid debts, failed business schemes, and luxury lifestyle habits.
The door clicked open, and Mark, the head of estate security, walked in with an urgent expression.
"Chairman," Mark said, using my new title with crisp professionalism. "We have an alert from the perimeter grid."
I stood up, walking over to the central security monitors.
Walter’s estate was situated on twenty acres of heavily wooded land, protected by an eight-foot wrought-iron security perimeter, motion sensors, and thermal imaging cameras.
On the southern boundary screen, three figures were visible cutting through the tree line in the dead of night.
"Identify them," I commanded.
Mark zoomed the thermal camera in, switching to low-light optical zoom.
The lead figure was stumbling, holding a dark object in his right hand. Even through the grainy night lens, the posture was unmistakable.
It was Ethan.
And with him were Marcus Drake and Julian Cole.
"Drake looks armed," Mark noted grimly, pointing to the distinct outline of a handgun tucked into the enforcer’s waistband. "Ethan must have convinced them that there is cash or negotiable bearer bonds in the estate safe. They’re desperate. Drake knows the police are closing in on his syndicate after the gala footage went viral. He wants to hit the estate and flee across the border."
A chill ran down my spine, but it was immediately replaced by fierce adrenaline. "Where is Grandpa?"
"Walter is resting in the master suite on the third floor," Mark replied. "The safe room is fully operational. We can move him right now."
"No," Walter’s voice suddenly spoke from behind us.
He walked into the room, wearing a heavy wool dressing gown, but his eyes were wide awake, shining with the fierce tactical fire of an old soldier.
"Do not lock me away in a safe room like a helpless invalid," Walter said firmly. "Ethan made his final choice tonight. He didn't just come to steal; he brought armed criminals to the home of his grandfather."
Walter looked at Mark. "Have you contacted the State Police Tactical Unit?"
"Captain Henderson is three minutes out with six squad cars," Mark confirmed. "They have already set up a roadblock half a mile down the access road. The moment these three cross the inner fence line, they are caught in a box."
I watched the screen as Ethan kicked open the latch on the greenhouse gate. In his other hand, Ethan was carrying an aluminum can of gasoline.
My breath caught.
He didn't just come to rob Walter. In his drug-fueled, ruined madness, Ethan wanted to burn the estate to the ground. He wanted to destroy the legacy he could no longer possess.
"Mark," I said, my voice cold as ice, "kill the exterior floodlights on the south courtyard. Let them think the grounds are unguarded."
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"Leo?" Walter asked, looking at me.
"He wants to confront the family one last time?" I said, tightening my fists. "Let's give him his stage."
