Chapter 13 - Blood and Steel
By three in the afternoon, the city was drenched in a torrential downpour, the sky turning the color of bruised iron. I sat in the rear of the armored Suburban, watching the windshield wipers sweep across the rain-streaked glass. Marcus Vance was on the speakerphone, his voice crackling over the encrypted connection.
"Alexander, Judge Miller signed the emergency audit motion," Marcus said, breathing hard. "Victoria’s legal team filed an expedited petition claiming Sophie’s original biometric scan was manipulated by unauthorized digital keys. They are requesting a court-appointed physician to draw Sophie's blood at New York Presbyterian tomorrow morning."
"Who appointed the judge?" I demanded.
"Miller was appointed by the state bench four years ago," Marcus replied reluctantly. "He has substantial campaign donations linked to Blake-affiliated holding corporations in Delaware. He’s in her pocket, Alexander. If we refuse to produce the child, he’ll issue a writ of attachment for contempt. They can legally dispatch state marshals to remove Sophie from your custody."
"Over my dead body," I snarled, terminating the call.
Dante glanced back from the passenger seat, his eyes grim. "Boss, we can't let state marshals anywhere near the penthouse. Even if we prove paternity later, having Sophie hauled into a public courtroom will paint a target on her back for every rival family looking to exploit our weakness."
"Call our medical team at Mount Sinai," I ordered. "Dr. Sterling was Julian’s personal physician for fifteen years. Have him prep an independent genetic report. We will present the indisputable truth to the appellate court before Miller's order can take effect."
Suddenly, the Suburban lurched violently to the left.
The sickening crunch of twisted metal echoed through the cabin as a commercial delivery truck blew through a red light at the intersection of 57th and Park Avenue, slamming directly into our rear quarter-panel. The impact spun our heavy vehicle across three lanes of traffic, tires screaming against wet asphalt until we crashed into a concrete security barrier.
"Ambush!" Dante roared, drawing his weapon as the airbags deflated with a hiss of white powder.
Before the smoke cleared, two black vans slid to a halt on either side of our wrecked SUV. Men in tactical vests and ballistic helmets jumped out, wielding suppressed automatic rifles. They didn't fire at the driver's cabin—they fired directly into our engine block and tires, executing a clinical, professional immobilization.
"They aren't here to kill us," Dante muttered, kicking open his door and returning fire with three precise double-taps. Two of the attackers collapsed to the pavement. "They're pinning us down!"
My phone buzzed in my hand. It was the security team stationed at Sophie’s private preschool in Tribeca.
"Mr. Carter!" the lead guard shouted over the sound of blaring sirens and panicked shouts. "A black convoy just breached the school perimeter! They have tactical uniforms and forged federal marshals' badges! They're demanding entry into the kindergarten wing! Elena is inside with Sophie—we're taking fire at the front gates!"
A surge of volcanic adrenaline flooded my veins. "Hold the line! Kill anyone who steps across that doorway!"
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I kicked my door open, stepping out into the pouring rain. A shooter raised his rifle toward me, but Dante dropped him with a single shot to the chest. I grabbed the dead mercenary's dropped carbine, stepped over his body, and commandeered an idling black sedan stuck in the traffic jam behind us.
"Dante, get in!" I yelled, slamming the accelerator to the floor. The tires smoked against the wet asphalt as we tore down Park Avenue toward Tribeca, leaving the burning wreckage behind us.
