Chapter 5 - The Attack at Midnight
The emergency generators should have activated in eight seconds.
They didn’t.
That told Prescott everything.
“This is internal.”
His voice came through the darkness.
I already had my weapon in my hand.
Adeline stood behind me clutching Genevieve’s music box.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
“You need the key.”
“I need you alive.”
For one second, I saw Genevieve in the set of her jaw.
Then Prescott shoved a flashlight into Adeline’s hand.
“You stay between us.”
She nodded.
We moved.
The Mercer estate had been designed to withstand attack.
Steel shutters.
Independent circuits.
Backup generators.
Secure rooms.
Underground access.
But security systems were only as good as the people running them.
Someone inside my house had sabotaged everything.
My children were two floors away.
We reached the first stairwell.
Gunfire cracked below.
Adeline flinched.
Prescott grabbed his radio.
“Team Three, status.”
Static.
“Team Three?”
Nothing.
My pulse accelerated.
We continued upward.
At the medical corridor, emergency lighting flickered weakly.
Two guards lay near the entrance.
Alive.
Unconscious.
Prescott checked one.
“Sedated.”
The same drugs carried by the first attackers.
My stomach turned.
I ran to the twins’ room.
Empty.
The beds were empty.
“JONAH!”
Nothing.
“BLYTHE!”
Adeline grabbed my arm.
“Lawson.”
I looked down.
Jonah’s stuffed wolf lay on the floor.
His favorite toy.
He never left it behind willingly.
I became something other than human.
Prescott stepped in front of me.
“Think.”
“Move.”
“Lawson.”
“They have my children.”
“And running blind gets them killed.”
I hated him.
He was right.
A nurse moaned from behind a supply cart.
Adeline rushed over.
“Hey.”
The woman opened her eyes.
“Mr. Mercer…”
“Where are they?”
“Odette.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She came… said there was an evacuation…”
“Where?”
“Service elevator.”
Prescott’s expression changed.
Odette Baptiste had worked for my family for fourteen years.
She held Jonah the night he was born.
She sat with Genevieve during chemotherapy scares.
She had been in the limousine behind my wife the night she died.
No.
Not Odette.
We reached the service elevator.
Disabled.
“Stairs,” Prescott said.
We descended two floors.
Then I heard a child crying.
Blythe.
I ran.
Prescott cursed and followed.
The basement corridor ended near an old wine cellar.
Odette stood there.
She held Blythe against her chest.
Jonah clung to her dress.
Both children were terrified.
I stopped.
“Odette.”
She started crying.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Bring them to me.”
“I’m trying.”
“To do what?”
“Save them.”
A man stepped from behind the cellar door.
Mason Rourke.
Vane’s lieutenant.
He held a gun against Odette’s ribs.
Everything suddenly made sense.
Odette wasn’t betraying us.
She was trapped.
Rourke smiled.
“Nice family reunion.”
Prescott raised his weapon.
Rourke pressed the barrel harder into Odette.
“No.”
Blythe screamed.
Jonah tried to hit him.
“Don’t touch her!”
Rourke shoved the boy.
I almost fired.
Adeline grabbed my sleeve.
Rourke looked at her.
“There she is.”
“You wanted me,” Adeline said. “Let them go.”
“No.”
“Crosby said—”
“You don’t know what Crosby said.”
“I know he wants the key.”
Rourke’s eyes moved toward the music box in her hand.
Bingo.
Adeline had done it deliberately.
She stepped forward.
“Here.”
“Addie, no.”
She ignored me.
“Let the children go first.”
Rourke smiled.
“You really are Genevieve’s sister.”
“Was that supposed to hurt?”
“She was difficult too.”
My vision narrowed.
“You knew my wife?”
Rourke laughed.
“Better than you did.”
Prescott’s weapon shifted.
I spoke quietly.
“What did you do to her?”
Rourke’s smile widened.
“Lawson.”
Adeline’s warning came softly.
He wanted me angry.
Angry men made mistakes.
I forced my hand steady.
“Release Odette and the children.”
“The key.”
“Children first.”
Rourke considered.
Then he nodded toward Jonah.
“The boy.”
Odette released him.
Jonah ran to me.
I dropped to one knee and caught him.
“Dad.”
“I’ve got you.”
“Blythe—”
“I know.”
I pushed him behind Prescott.
“Now her.”
Rourke shook his head.
“Key.”
Adeline held it up.
“Fine.”
She tossed it.
Not to Rourke.
Past him.
Into the open wine cellar.
He turned instinctively.
That was his mistake.
Prescott fired.
The shot struck Rourke’s shoulder.
Odette dropped with Blythe.
I lunged.
Chaos exploded.
Rourke fired blindly.
Glass shattered.
Adeline screamed.
Prescott hit him again.
I reached Blythe and covered her body.
Jonah shouted somewhere behind me.
Then silence.
Rourke lay on the floor.
Alive.
Bleeding.
Furious.
Adeline leaned against the wall.
“Addie?”
“I’m fine.”
She wasn’t.
Blood darkened her sleeve.
I crossed to her.
“Where?”
“Arm.”
The bullet had grazed her.
Not deep.
But she was supposed to donate stem cells.
My fear changed direction instantly.
“Get Yates.”
Prescott was already calling.
Odette hugged both children.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her.
“Why didn’t you alert security?”
“They have my son.”
My anger disappeared.
“What?”
Her face broke.
“Malcolm.”
Odette’s son lived in Wisconsin.
Teacher.
Married.
Two little girls.
“Vane took him yesterday.”
Prescott swore.
“They sent me photographs. Told me I had to disable the emergency generator and take the children downstairs when the lights failed.”
“Why downstairs?”
“Rourke said a vehicle would come through the old tunnel.”
I looked at Prescott.
“What old tunnel?”
His face said he didn’t know either.
Odette stared at me.
“Mrs. Mercer knew.”
Genevieve.
Of course.
“What tunnel?”
“Under the original foundation. It reaches the alley beyond the western wall.”
A secret exit.
Or entrance.
Crosby’s men hadn’t breached our walls.
They walked beneath them.
“Prescott.”
“I’m on it.”
“And find Malcolm.”
Odette began crying harder.
“Please.”
“We will.”
Dr. Yates arrived with nurses.
He examined Adeline’s arm first.
“The graze is superficial.”
“Does it affect donation?”
“Not if there’s no infection and blood loss is limited.”
Adeline exhaled.
Then Yates turned toward Blythe.
She looked pale.
Too pale.
“What’s wrong?”
I asked.
He checked her pulse.
“Blythe?”
She didn’t respond.
No.
Not again.
Yates pulled back her blanket.
Blood stained her pajama leg.
“She’s bleeding.”
“From where?”
“Likely thrombocytopenia-related. We need platelets now.”
The basement turned into an emergency ward.
They rushed her upstairs.
Jonah refused to leave her.
I carried him.
Adeline walked beside me despite Yates ordering her to sit.
Prescott disappeared with security teams.
Rourke was taken below the main garage for interrogation.
At 2:40 a.m., Blythe stabilized.
At 3:15, Jonah developed a fever.
At 4:00, Adeline received her next injection.
At 5:30, nobody had slept.
I stood outside the children’s room watching dawn spread over Chicago.
Adeline joined me.
Her arm was bandaged.
“You should rest.”
“So should you.”
“I’m not donating organs tomorrow.”
“Stem cells aren’t organs.”
“You know what I mean.”
She stared through the window.
“They’re good kids.”
“They take after Genevieve.”
She looked at me.
“Only her?”
“Unfortunately, Jonah gets his stubbornness from me.”
“Blythe?”
“Her temper.”
“Genevieve had a temper.”
“Not like Blythe.”
“You never saw Genevieve throw a toaster through a window.”
I turned.
“She did what?”
“Seventeen. Boy cheated on her.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
It came out wrong.
Broken.
But real.
Adeline smiled.
Then her eyes filled.
“I miss her.”
“So do I.”
For the first time, we stood beside each other without anger.
Just two people who loved the same woman differently.
Prescott appeared at the end of the corridor.
His clothing was dirty.
His expression grim.
“We found the tunnel.”
“And?”
“Fresh tire marks outside the exit.”
“Rourke?”
“Talking.”
“What does he say?”
Prescott held up a small digital recorder.
“That Genevieve’s crash wasn’t an accident.”
Every bit of warmth disappeared.
Adeline closed her eyes.
I had always suspected.
Suspicion was different from hearing it.
“Who ordered it?”
“Vane.”
“Why?”
“Because she found the ledger.”
I stared.
“Where?”
“Rourke doesn’t know.”
“What does the key open?”
“He doesn’t know that either.”
I looked at the music box.
“Then what does he know?”
Prescott’s face hardened.
“He knows who planted the device in Genevieve’s car.”
“Name.”
Prescott hesitated.
“Lawson…”
“Name.”
He said it.
And the world shifted.
“Your brother.”
I laughed because the alternative was screaming.
“I don’t have a brother.”
Prescott didn’t move.
May you like
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“You do.”
