Chapter 8 - DESPERATE MEASURES
The arrest of Daniel Vance was a public spectacle.
As the police led him and Vanessa through the lobby of the Plaza Hotel in handcuffs, the press, tipped off by my
father’s public relations team, snapped hundreds of photos. The heroic survivor was exposed as a corrupt,
fraudulent criminal who had left his wife and child to die in the ruins of his own structurally compromised building.
By the next morning, Daniel's face was on the front page of every major newspaper in the country.
But Daniel was a cornered rat, and cornered rats are at their most dangerous when they have nothing left to lose.
Three days after his arrest, Daniel was released on a multi-million-dollar bail, funded by the last of his liquid
assets and a predatory loan shark he had turned to in desperation. His company was bankrupt, his assets were
frozen, and he was facing a minimum of twenty years in federal prison.
He was desperate, angry, and entirely consumed by a desire for revenge.
I was staying with Mason at my father’s private estate in the Hamptons—a heavily guarded fortress surrounded
by high stone walls and state-of-the-art security systems. Mason was fully recovered now, spending his days
playing in the massive gardens and learning to ride horses, entirely insulated from the storm raging around his
father.
But on a rainy Tuesday evening, the storm breached our walls.
I was in the kitchen, preparing a warm cup of milk for Mason, when the power suddenly cut out. The estate was
plunged into absolute darkness.
"Marcus?" I called out into the dark, my heart instantly racing. My father was in the city attending an
emergency board meeting, leaving only Marcus and two security guards on the property.
Silence answered me.
Suddenly, a heavy hand clamped over my mouth from behind, and a cold, hard metallic barrel was pressed
against my temple. The scent of cheap cologne and stale sweat filled my nose—a scent I knew all too well.
"Don't make a sound, Elena," Daniel’s voice hissed in my ear. He sounded manic, his breathing ragged and
uneven. He was soaking wet from the rain, his clothes disheveled, his eyes wild with a terrifying, desperate
madness. "If you scream, I swear to God I'll pull the trigger."
I forced myself to breathe through my nose, my mind racing. I nodded slowly, and he cautiously peeled his hand
away from my mouth, though the gun remained pressed against my head.
"Where is my son?" Daniel demanded, his voice shaking. "Where is Mason?"
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"He's asleep upstairs, Daniel," I said, keeping my voice as calm and steady as possible. "Please, don't do this.
You're already facing prison. If you do this, you'll never see the light of day again."
"I’m already dead, Elena!" he screamed, his voice cracking with madness. "Your billionaire father took
everything from me! My company, my money, my reputation! Vanessa turned on me the second we got to the
precinct! I have nothing! But I’m not going to prison alone. I’m taking my son, and we’re leaving this country.
You’re going to get your father to transfer ten million dollars to an offshore account right now, or I’ll end this right
here."
"Daniel, look at me," I said, slowly turning my head to face him despite the gun. In the dim light filtering
through the window from the storm outside, I saw a broken, pathetic man. "You don't love Mason. You never did.
He was just a accessory to you. A prop to make you look like a family man. If you take him, you'll destroy his life."
"I don't care!" he yelled, his eyes flashing with a terrifying rage. "I want to see your father bleed! I want to see
you crawl!"
"I am done crawling, Daniel," I said softly.
Before he could react, the kitchen door burst open. Marcus stood in the doorway, his service weapon drawn, the
red laser sight painting a bright dot directly onto Daniel's chest.
"Drop the weapon, Vance!" Marcus commanded, his voice cold and steady.
Daniel panicked. He pulled me in front of him as a shield, backing toward the rear exit. "Back off! Or she dies!"
But Daniel had forgotten one crucial detail. He had spent eight years believing I was weak, helpless, and
incapable of defending myself. He had never bothered to learn that before I met him, I had taken five years of self-
defense training at my father's insistence.
I slammed my heel down onto his foot, crushing his toes. As he gasped in pain, his grip loosened for a split
second. I grabbed his gun hand, twisting his wrist outward with all my strength while driving my elbow sharply
into his ribs.
The gun fired once, the bullet shattering a kitchen tile, but the weapon flew from his grip, clattering across the
floor.
Daniel stumbled back, gasping for air. Before he could recover, Marcus closed the distance, tackling him to the
ground and pinning his arms behind his back with a heavy, metallic click of handcuffs.
Daniel lay on the floor, his face pressed against the cold tile, weeping hysterically.
I stood over him, smoothing down my sweater, my breathing shallow but my heart completely steady. I looked
down at the man who had once held my entire world in his palm, and felt absolutely nothing.
"Take him away, Marcus," I said quietly. "And make sure the police know he tried to use an unregistered
May you like
firearm."
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