Chapter 3 - The Ashford Retaliation
“Get down!”
Ethan’s voice cut through the dark an instant before the sound of breaking glass shattered the quiet. High-caliber sniper rounds punched through the heavy, reinforced floor-to-ceiling windows, creating spiderwebs of cracks in the triple-paned security glass. A dull thud echoed as a round tore into the mahogany bar, sending shards of crystal and vintage liquor showering across the parquet floor.
Ethan didn't hesitate. He crossed the space between them in a single stride, grabbed Grace by the waist, and pulled her down behind the reinforced steel-backed sofa just as a second shot punched through the plaster where her head had been seconds before.
“They’re using thermal scopes from the crane on the construction site across the avenue,” Grace whispered, her pulse hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. “They’re trying to eliminate us before the grand jury convenes tomorrow.”
“They aren't going to get the chance,” Ethan replied, his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, shielding her body with his own. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tactical transmitter. He pressed the red button twice.
Immediately, heavy motorized steel storm shutters descended over the shattered windows with a deafening, industrial groan. The metallic clangs sealed the room in total blackness, cutting off the view of the skyline and stopping any further rounds dead against three inches of ballistic titanium alloy.
Secondary emergency lights kicked on—dim, red tactical strips along the baseboards that cast eerie, elongated shadows across the room.
Ethan looked down at Grace. She was breathing hard, her eyes wide, but there was no hysterical panic in her expression. There was only sharp, cold calculation. That was the woman he had come to admire over the past ninety days: a brilliant mind that refused to break under pressure.
“Are you hurt?” he asked again, his hand checking her arms, her shoulders, his touch instinctive and protective.
“I’m intact,” she breathed. “Ethan, Ashford isn’t doing this alone. A fallen billionaire doesn't orchestrate an ambush on a police convoy and hire high-end mercenaries within forty-five minutes of being exposed. Someone is backing him.”
“Bradley Vance,” Ethan said coldly, his jaw tight.
Grace blinked. “The Vice Chairman of your board?”
“Bradley has been pushing for a merger between Caldwell Global and Ashford’s maritime shipping syndicate for eighteen months,” Ethan explained, pulling Grace up into a crouch and leading her toward the concealed private elevator behind the library wall. “If the merger went through, Caldwell Global would have absorbed Ashford’s debt, and Vance would have secured a twelve percent controlling interest in our international trade routes. He knew about the embezzlement. In fact, I suspect he was taking a thirty percent cut of the laundered foundation funds.”
“Then my father wasn't just destroyed by Richard Ashford,” Grace realized, a bitter taste rising in her mouth. “He was destroyed by Caldwell Global’s own board.”
“By Vance,” Ethan corrected, his voice full of resolve. “And that ends tonight. This building is compromised. My private security team will secure the perimeter, but we need to move. I have a safe house outside the city—a fortified estate in Westchester that isn't registered under Caldwell Global’s public assets.”
The concealed elevator doors slid open with a whisper. Ethan guided Grace inside, entered a seven-digit bypass code on a concealed keypad, and the elevator began its rapid descent toward the underground private garage.
As the elevator plunged downward, Grace looked at Ethan in the dim red glow of the carriage. “Ethan, if you take me there, if you keep protecting me, you’re putting yourself in the crosshairs of your own board of directors. Vance will call an emergency shareholder meeting at dawn. He’ll claim you’ve gone rogue, that you fabricated evidence against your fiancée out of paranoia, and he will use this shooting to declare you mentally unfit to lead the company.”
Ethan looked at her. He didn't blink. He reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her warm cheek.
“Let him try,” Ethan said quietly. “Caldwell Global is just steel and paper, Grace. I built it from nothing once, and I can build it again. But you gave your life, your youth, and your sanity to clear your father’s name and bring the truth into the light. I am not letting them bury you. Not tonight. Not ever.”
The elevator chimed, and the heavy doors slid open into the reinforced concrete bunker of the private garage. Waiting for them was a matte-black, fully armored Rezvani SUV, its engine idling with a low, predatory rumble.
Behind the wheel sat Marcus, Ethan’s head of security, a former Navy SEAL whose expression was as grim as a tombstone.
“Boss,” Marcus said, nodding toward the passenger seat. “Perimeter is swarming with unmarked vehicles. We’ve got about three minutes before they blockade the avenue exit.”
May you like
Ethan pushed Grace into the armored cabin, climbed in behind her, and pulled the reinforced door shut. “Ram the gates if you have to, Marcus. Take us to Westchester.”
***
