Chapter 9 - The Ghost from the Past
The deadbolted front door rattled violently as heavy pressure was applied from the outside. I held my breath, clutching my sleeping daughter so tightly against my chest that I feared she might wake and cry.
Through the thin gap beneath the bedroom door, I heard the faint scratching sound of a master key pick working its way through the reinforced lock mechanism. Whoever was out there wasn't just an intruder; they were a trained professional with high-end security tools.
*Click.*
The front door swung open with a soft hiss. Heavy, deliberate footsteps crossed the hardwood entryway, moving stealthily toward the kitchen and living area. The intruder was searching the apartment room by room.
I backed further into the corner of the bedroom, my eyes scanning the room for any makeshift weapon. My fingers brushed against a heavy brass lamp on the bedside table. I gripped it tightly, ready to swing if the bedroom door handle began to turn.
Suddenly, the heavy footsteps stopped right outside the master bedroom door. A low, raspy voice spoke through the wood paneling, sending a jolt of ice straight down my spine.
"I know you're in there, Nora. You and that little brat can't hide forever."
It wasn't a stranger. It was a voice I hadn't heard in years—a voice I thought was locked away in a maximum-security federal penitentiary two states away.
*Victor Vance.*
Richard Vance’s estranged younger brother—a disgraced private investigator and former federal agent who had been dishonorably discharged for accepting cartel bribes five years earlier. The Mercer family hadn't just relied on corporate lawyers; they had a family fixer, and Victor had just surfaced.
"Victor, you're violating federal sanctuary rules. The marshals are already on their way," I called out through the door, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts to sound brave.
Victor let out a harsh, gravelly chuckle. "Let the marshals come, Nora. By the time they clear the perimeter, you and I are going to have a very quiet, very permanent conversation about those missing hard drives."
I heard the heavy metallic click of a silenced firearm being cocked just outside the door.
Panic surged through my veins, but training and adrenaline instantly took over. I lowered little Maya gently into the padded center of a laundry basket in the walk-in closet, whispering, "Stay quiet, my angel," before slipping back out toward the bedroom door.
Before Victor could fire a round through the wooden panel, the sound of screeching tires and flashing blue lights erupted from the street below the apartment building.
"Police! Drop your weapon! Hands where we can see them!" Maya Torres’s amplified bullhorn echoed through the courtyard.
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Outside the bedroom door, Victor cursed loudly, realizing his window of escape had slammed shut. Heavy footsteps pounded toward the balcony sliding door as he smashed the glass and bolted outside into the night air.
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