Chapter 7 - The Burning Mill
The concussive wave from the blast shoved the heavy station wagon sideways, the tires screaming as Leo fought the skid on the gravel road. Smoke and flaming debris rained across the roof, but the old American steel held firm.
In the rear seat, Elena curled over Mateo, shielding him with her entire body. ""Leo! What was that?""
""Controlled demolition,"" Leo said through gritted teeth, his eyes scanning the narrow dirt track ahead. ""Your father didn't leave that car without a tripwire. He took out the pursuit behind us.""
The access road followed the curve of Blackwood Creek, winding deep into the forested canyon where the abandoned logging mill had rotted for thirty years. The morning mist hung thick here, mixing with the sharp scent of river silt and ozone.
Mateo lifted his head from beneath Elena's jacket, his face streaked with tears, yet his voice was steady. ""Big boom, Mama.""
""Yes, baby,"" Elena murmured, smoothing his hair with trembling hands. ""Big boom. But Papa is driving. We’re okay.""
She met Leo’s eyes in the rearview mirror. ""Leo, my father never cared about anything except leverage. If he orchestrated this—if he faked his death and lured Julian out here—he isn't doing it to save us. He's using us as bait.""
""I know,"" Leo said grimly. ""That's why we're not walking into his trap blindly.""
Ten minutes later, the corrugated roofs of the Blackwood Lumber Mill loomed out of the fog like the skeleton of a prehistoric beast. Rusted conveyor belts hung suspended over the rushing river below.
Leo killed the headlights and coasted the station wagon into the shadow of an overgrown timber dock. He cut the engine, and the canyon swallowed them in heavy silence, broken only by the roar of the water rushing over the mill’s ruined weir.
""Stay behind me,"" Leo whispered, reaching under the driver's seat. His hand found what he was looking for: an old iron tire iron wrapped in duct tape. It wasn't a firearm, but in close quarters, Leo knew how to use weight and momentum.
They slipped out of the vehicle and approached the mill’s main office entrance. The door hung slightly ajar, secured only by an old logging chain.
Inside, the air was freezing and smelled of sulfur and antiseptic. In the center of the vast sorting floor, beneath a single overhead halogen lamp hooked up to a car battery, sat a wheelchair.
A frail, gaunt man sat wrapped in a wool blanket, plastic tubing running from his nose to a portable oxygen tank beside him. His face was hollow, skin pale as parchment, but his grey eyes still held the terrifying, razor-sharp intelligence that had built a corporate empire.
""You're seven minutes late, Leo,"" Arthur Vance rasped.
Elena stepped out from behind Leo, her voice dripping with venom. ""Did you set our home on fire, Father?""
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Arthur turned his head slowly, his gaze bypassing his daughter entirely and locking directly onto little Mateo.
""I did what was required to ensure the survival of the Vance bloodline,"" the old man said coldly. ""And right now, Elena... Julian’s helicopter is circling the ridge above us.""
