Gracelyn's fingers flew across the keyboard. The code on the screen scrolled like a waterfall of green rain.
Target: City General Hospital. Database: Oncology.
Richard had been holding his "Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer" over Gracelyn's head for six months. It was the ultimate guilt trip, the reason she had almost agreed to marry Vane. Dying wish. Save the family.
She slid a panel from the baseboard, revealing a hidden ethernet port she'd installed years ago. It was her secret lifeline to the outside world, a hardline connection that bypassed any wireless jammers. She plugged in. The signal was clean and fast. She bypassed the hospital's firewall in under two minutes. It was laughably weak. Gracelyn searched for Montgomery, Richard.
She opened his latest file.
Diagnosis: Gastritis. Cause: Excessive alcohol consumption. Prognosis: Excellent.
Gracelyn stared at the screen. A cold, bitter laugh escaped her lips. He wasn't dying. He just had a stomach ache from drinking too much scotch.
She didn't stop there. Gracelyn dug into the family trust fund accounts. She found the transfers. Hundreds of thousands of dollars siphoned out to an account named "SugarBaby_LLC".
She compiled it all. The medical report. The bank statements. The photos of him on a yacht when he was supposed to be in chemo.
Gracelyn sent it all. To the Trust Board. To the SEC. To Elena's personal email.
Two minutes later, a scream tore through the house.
"RICHARD!" Elena's voice was a siren. "You bastard! You aren't sick?!"
Gracelyn picked up her laptop and walked out onto the landing. She looked down into the foyer.
Elena was hitting Richard with her purse. Richard was trying to shield his face, looking confused. Then his phone started buzzing. Then the house phone rang.
He looked up and saw Gracelyn. He saw the laptop in her arms.
"You," he roared. He pushed Elena aside. "You did this!"
Gracelyn just smiled. She didn't need to speak. The truth was screaming for her.
Richard's face turned purple. "Get her! Break down that door! I don't care if she's married to God himself, kill her!"
The three remaining bodyguards pulled their guns. They started up the stairs.
Gracelyn ran back into her room. She shoved the dresser back against the door.
Thud.
The wood splintered. They were kicking it in.
Thud.
Gracelyn backed away toward the window. They were on the third floor. It was too high to jump. She was trapped.
She grabbed her phone to call 911. No Service. The jammers were still active.
The door frame cracked. A hand reached through the hole, fumbling for the lock.
Gracelyn grabbed a letter opener from the desk. It was dull, useless, but it was all she had. She stood with her back to the window, watching the door give way.
Suddenly, the glass behind her exploded.
A deafening roar filled the room. A blinding white light washed over Gracelyn, casting long, sharp shadows against the walls.
She shielded her eyes, spinning around.
A black helicopter was hovering just above the lawn, the wind from its rotors whipping the curtains into a frenzy. The noise was earth-shattering.
Down below, the front gates of the estate crumpled as two armored SUVs rammed through them like they were made of paper.
Men in dark suits, not tactical gear, poured out of the vehicles, moving with cold efficiency. They were followed by uniformed NYPD officers holding a warrant. They moved like water-fluid, unstoppable. In seconds, the Montgomery bodyguards on the lawn were face-down in the grass, being cuffed by the police.
The pounding on Gracelyn's door stopped. The guards in the hall had heard it. They were running.
Gracelyn looked down. The central SUV door opened.
Constantine stepped out.
He was immaculate in a dark suit, his tie perfectly knotted. He didn't look like a warlord; he looked like a king surveying a conquered territory.
He looked up. Even from three stories down, his gaze locked onto Gracelyn's. It pinned her to the spot.
He didn't wave. He just pointed at the front door.
Gracelyn dropped the letter opener.
Richard ran out the front door, shouting, waving his arms. "This is private property! I'll sue!"
Marcus stepped forward and casually kicked Richard's legs out from under him. Richard hit the gravel hard. Marcus placed a boot on his back, keeping him down as an officer moved in with handcuffs.
Constantine walked right past Gracelyn's father without even glancing at him. He entered the house.
A minute later, Gracelyn's bedroom door was kicked open. But this time, it fell inward with a single, precise blow.
Constantine stood in the doorway, filling the frame. He looked at the broken furniture, the shattered glass, and then at Gracelyn.
"I told you," he said, his voice calm over the sound of the helicopter outside. "I'd bring you home."
