Chapter 5 - The Sound of Retribution
The distance between the grand ballroom and the long private driveway of the estate was nearly a quarter of a mile, but the sound traveled through the heavy autumn mist with terrifying clarity.
*Wail.*
A solitary siren broke through the humid night air, followed an instant later by the synchronized shrieks of half a dozen high-powered emergency vehicles. The mournful wail echoed off the limestone facades of the country club, rattling the stained-glass transoms above the grand doors.
Inside the ballroom, panic erupted like an electric current.
Guests surged to their feet, knocking over champagne glasses and scattering floral centerpieces. Wealthy socialites scrambled for their wraps; investors began shouting into their cellphones, demanding immediate portfolio liquidation.
“Chad! What did you do?!” Brooke screamed, scrambling onto the stage, grabbing Chad’s sleeve with manic desperation. Her perfection was completely undone—mascara streaked down her cheeks, her hair loose around her bare shoulders. “Tell them she’s lying! Tell my father you didn't touch his trust!”
Chad shoved her backward with vicious force. Brooke stumbled, crying out as her heel caught on the hem of her gown, sending her sprawling onto the hardwood stage floor.
Ethan didn't even look down at her. Six months ago, the sight of Brooke falling would have torn him apart. Tonight, she was simply a stranger who had traded loyalty for a sinking ship.
“Get away from me, you stupid bitch!” Chad snarled, tossing the notes from the podium into the air. He didn't care about the keynote anymore. He didn't care about the board members or the eight-billion-dollar lie. He cared only about the flashing red and blue lights that were already painting the high, arched windows of the ballroom in blood-colored strokes.
“Police are on site,” Isabella said, adjusting the earbud tucked behind her dark hair. “Local units have the main gates blocked. Federal agents are coming up the secondary lane.”
Chad looked around the ballroom. The main entrance was blocked by three burly federal agents displaying gold badges on their belts. The terrace glass doors were locked and barred from the outside.
There was only one way out: the service corridors that snaked through the catering kitchens and led to the loading docks behind the property. From there, he could slip into the wooded reserve, reach the secondary road where his driver had an unregistered sedan waiting, and disappear before the paperwork caught up to him.
Chad lunged toward the stage stairs, throwing an elbow that clipped a waiter carrying a silver tray, sending glasses crashing to the marble floor in an explosion of foam and shards.
“Stop him!” someone yelled, but the crowd was too busy retreating toward the walls, terrified of being caught in the crossfire.
Ethan felt a sudden, sharp ache tear through his hip joint as he pivoted to give chase, but Isabella caught his arm, steadying him with surprising strength.
“Don't,” Isabella whispered, a faint, razor-sharp smile touching her lips. “Let him run.”
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“He has the access codes to the cold storage servers,” Ethan said through gritted teeth, fighting through the physical pain. “If he reaches a terminal before they seize his devices, he can wipe the audit trail.”
“He won't make it to a terminal,” Isabella said calmly. “I planned this route forty-eight hours ago.”
