Chapter 13 - The Race Against Time
"Sarah! Cut the trace and lock down the building's exterior exits!" I commanded, spinning away from the dark screen and sprinting toward the glass doors of the boardroom. "David, get me a direct, encrypted audio-video feed to the estate manager at my primary residence right now!"
"Madam Chairwoman, the police—" Sarah started, scrambling to her feet in panic.
"There's no time for police protocol!" I shouted, tearing off my suit jacket and tossing it over a chair as I moved with blistering speed. "Alistair Thorne has operatives inside my home. My six-month-old daughter is in that nursery!"
I bolted out of the executive suite, my heels clicking frantically against the marble corridors as I rushed toward the private express elevator that led directly down to the underground parking garage. My mind raced through a dozen worst-case scenarios, every maternal instinct screaming in absolute terror while my corporate training desperately fought to maintain tactical clarity.
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket as I hammered the elevator call button. I pulled it out; it was David connecting the encrypted link to my home estate manager.
"Mrs. Vance! Thank God you're calling!" the frantic voice of Mrs. Gable, our head estate manager, echoed through the speaker. "Two men dressed in maintenance uniforms forced their way past the side security gate ten minutes ago! They bypassed the lower alarms and they're currently heading toward the second-floor nursery!"
"Where is the private security detail I personally hired?!" I demanded, bursting into the elevator car and slamming the button for the underground garage.
"They... they drugged the perimeter guards at the gatehouse, ma’am! We're completely cut off!" Mrs. Gable sobbed, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing in the background of her phone line. "I'm hiding in the butler's pantry, but I heard them jiggling the nursery door handle just a moment ago!"
"Listen to me very carefully, Mrs. Gable," I said, my voice dropping into an absolute, unyielding register of command that brooked zero argument. "Do not come out of that pantry. Do not make a single sound. I am twenty minutes away from the estate, but I am calling emergency private tactical units to storm the property right now. Keep breathing, and do not let them take my daughter."
I hung up the phone before she could reply, my thumb instantly dialing the direct, private emergency dispatch number for Sterling & Vance’s elite private security division—a team of former federal operatives retained specifically for high-stakes corporate protection.
"This is Elena Vance," I barked the moment the line connected. "Code Black at my primary residential estate. Two armed intruders inside the nursery wing. Deploy the rapid-response tactical unit immediately, breach the perimeter, and neutralize any hostile target on sight. If my daughter suffers a single scratch, I will hold every single one of you personally responsible."
"Understood, Madam Chairwoman. Bird is in the air. ETA twelve minutes," the tactical commander's voice barked back before disconnecting.
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Twelve minutes. Twelve agonizing, eternity-long minutes while an old monster like Alistair Thorne attempted to steal the most precious thing in my world to ransom my family's legacy.
I reached the underground garage, threw myself into the driver’s seat of my sleek black town car, and fired the engine with a roar. I didn't wait for parking security to lift the automated exit arm; I hit the gas pedal, smashed straight through the temporary security barrier, and rocketed out onto the rainy streets of Manhattan, transforming a quiet corporate chairwoman into a mother driven by absolute, unadulterated vengeance.
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