Chapter 9 - The Cornered Predator
Within forty-eight hours of the Drake Hotel conference, the world around Vanguard Quantum Labs collapsed completely.
Federal agents from the SEC and the FBI executed search warrants on Vanguard’s headquarters, seizing servers, financial ledgers, and internal communications. Vance Sterling was forced to surrender his passport, while two of his top senior executives were taken into custody on charges of corporate espionage and evidence tampering.
Maya, Sophie, and I sat in my spacious Lincoln Park living room, watching the breaking news broadcast on the wide-screen television.
"Vanguard stock has dropped eighty-two percent since Tuesday's shocking announcement," the news anchor reported. "Federal prosecutors have confirmed an ongoing criminal inquiry into the suspicious death of Dr. Arthur Lin..."
Sophie jumped up and down on the rug, throwing her arms around Maya's neck. "You won, Maya! You beat them!"
Maya smiled, kissing Sophie's forehead, but I could see a subtle flicker of concern lingering behind her eyes. She looked out the large glass terrace doors toward the dark garden.
My phone rang. It was Vance, calling from his vehicle.
"Daniel, we have a problem," Vance said, his tone urgent and sharp. "Sterling was released on a two-million-dollar cash bond an hour ago. He slipped his federal monitoring detail near the marina. We lost his vehicle tracking tag."
My blood ran cold. "Where is he, Vance?"
"We think he's moving toward your location," Vance warned. "He knows his life is over. He has nothing left to lose. I'm three minutes away with six men, but you need to lock down the main house RIGHT NOW."
Before I could speak, the power inside my home went completely out.
The television snapped off. The chandelier darkened. The automated security panels on the walls emitted a high-pitched error beep as the perimeter backup generators were cut.
"Dad!" Sophie cried out in the pitch blackness.
"Maya, get Sophie behind the kitchen island!" I commanded, reaching into my jacket for my flashlight and drawing my handgun. "Move! Now!"
CRASH!
The heavy French glass doors leading to the outdoor terrace shattered inward in a shower of flying glass.
A shadow stepped through the frame, illuminated only by the faint silver moonlight.
It was Vance Sterling.
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His suit was torn, his tie undone, and his face was twisted into the horrifying mask of a cornered, desperate predator. In his right hand, he held a dark tactical revolver pointed directly at us.
"Where is she, Harrison?!" Sterling screamed, his voice hoarse and crazed. "Where is Arthur’s little brat?!"
