Chapter 8 - The Ambush
A deafening screech of tires shattered the quiet suburban morning. Two heavy black SUVs came barreling down the residential street at breakneck speed, their headlights flashing blindingly bright. Before Director Hayes could react, the doors of the SUVs flew open, and six armed men in tactical gear—wearing no police insignia, only matte black vests—poured onto the front lawn.
“Get down!” Hayes roared, abandoning his polite demeanor as he drew a heavy Glock pistol from his shoulder holster with terrifying speed.
I grabbed Emily by the waist, throwing both of us hard against the hardwood floor of the hallway just as a hail of gunfire shattered the front glass sidelights. Shards of razor-sharp glass rained down over us like glittering hail.
“Mom! Are you hit?” Emily screamed, shielding my head with her own arms.
“I’m fine! Keep crawling toward the kitchen!” I shouted over the deafening roar of automatic gunfire echoing through the foyer.
Outside, Hayes returned fire, emptying his pistol into the front yard with professional, cold-blooded precision. One of the masked assailants dropped instantly, rolling off the porch and hitting the stone walkway with a heavy thud. But more men kept coming.
“They’re not federal agents!” I realized with sudden, terrifying clarity. “They’re corporate clean-up crews sent by the remaining board members of Sterling & Vance to eliminate anyone who has access to Arthur’s journal!”
Bullets chewed through the drywall inches above our heads, kicking up white plaster dust that filled the air. The brown leather journal was still sitting on the dining room table, exposed and vulnerable.
“Emily, listen to me,” I said, grabbing her shoulders and looking directly into her wide, terrified eyes. “Run out the back door toward the neighbor’s yard. Get to your car and drive straight to the federal courthouse downtown. Demand to see Agent Miller personally.”
“I’m not leaving you here!” Emily sobbed, tears streaming through the dust on her cheeks. “We go together or not at all!”
“Go!” I yelled with all the authority of a veteran judge whose word was law. “That’s an order! If we both stay, the journal dies with us. Save the truth, Emily!”
Before she could argue further, a heavy crash echoed from the front hallway as the front door was kicked off its reinforced hinges. Heavy boots slammed onto the hardwood floor.
Hayes stumbled backward through the shattered entryway, bleeding heavily from a wound in his shoulder, clutching his gun with one hand. One of the masked assailants charged through the smoke, raising a suppressed rifle.
With a surge of desperate adrenaline, I lunged forward, grabbing a heavy brass umbrella stand beside the coat rack and hurling it with all my remaining strength straight at the assailant's legs. The man tripped hard, crashing onto the shattered glass.
“Emily, now!” I screamed.
Emily scrambled to her feet, snatched the leather journal off the dining table, and bolted through the kitchen door toward the back garden just as a masked gunman stepped into the kitchen archway.
The gunman raised his weapon, targeting Emily’s retreating back. Without a second thought, I threw myself directly into his line of sight, grabbing a heavy ceramic vase and smashing it across his helmet.
The man cursed, grabbing me by the collar and slamming me against the kitchen counter. Pain shot through my spine, my vision darkening at the edges. Through the haze of pain, I saw the back screen door slam shut as Emily escaped into the safety of the trees.
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“Where is the girl?” the masked man growled, pressing the barrel of his gun against my temple. “Where is the journal, old woman?”
I spat a drop of blood onto the pristine white tile floor, managing a defiant, bloody smile. “You’re… too late.”
