Chapter 3 - Blood on the Seine
""Julian,"" Vincent said, his voice dropping into an arctic, steady calm that masked the roaring fire in his veins. ""If you touch a single hair on Clara's head, there is no corner of this earth where you can hide from me.""
A dry, aristocratic laugh drifted through the receiver. ""Clara is already broken, Uncle. She spent seven years living like a rat in the sewers of northern Paris while you sat comfortably in your ivory tower. And as for you... your reign has ended. Hand over the boy. He carries the biometric key to the family vault in Geneva, and you know it.""
The call abruptly disconnected. Vincent lowered the phone, his mind racing. The Geneva vaults—specifically the private safety deposit boxes established by his grandfather—required a dual DNA-strand authorization. When Clara vanished, the primary account had locked automatically, freezing over forty percent of the conglomerate’s liquid capital. Julian wasn't just executing a vendetta; he was staging a hostile financial coup.
""Henri, do not cross the Pont de Bir-Hakeim,"" Vincent commanded sharply. ""It's a choke point. Take the lower embankment road!""
""Understood, Monsieur,"" Henri responded, wrenching the wheel hard to the right. The heavy sedan leaned, tires screaming as it descended the narrow cobblestone ramp leading toward the water’s edge of the Seine.
Behind them, the two chase vehicles executed the turn with terrifying precision. The lead SUV surged forward, slamming its reinforced steel bumper directly into the town car's rear quarter panel. The impact jerked Leo violently forward, but Vincent’s arm caught the boy like an iron bar, keeping him pinned safely against the seat.
""Hold on to me!"" Vincent ordered, pulling Leo tight against his ribs.
The second SUV maneuvered around their left flank, pinning Vincent’s car against the stone retaining wall of the riverbank. Sparks showered violently into the air as metal scraped against historic masonry. The driver of the flanking vehicle rolled down his armored window, revealing a masked gunman holding a compact submachine gun.
Henri reacted with veteran composure. Instead of braking, he slammed the town car's brakes for a split second, letting the flanking SUV overshoot them, and then rammed his front bumper squarely into the rear corner of the assailant's vehicle. The PIT maneuver was devastatingly effective at high speed. The aggressive SUV lost traction on the wet stones, spun completely around, and flipped over the low stone barrier, crashing violently into the murky waters of the river below.
A momentary sense of relief was instantly shattered. The first SUV accelerated furiously, striking Henri’s rear bumper once more with explosive force. The collision sheared the steering column of Vincent’s car, sending them spinning out of control toward the entrance of a dark, abandoned drainage tunnel beneath the quayside.
The vehicle crashed violently into the stone archway, airbags deploying with a deafening bang. Dust, steam, and smoke enveloped the cabin.
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Vincent coughed through the haze, his forehead bleeding from where he had struck the partition. Beside him, Leo was gasping, terrified but conscious. In the front seat, Henri slumped motionless over the steering wheel, blood pooling against the deployed airbag.
Outside the shattered windows, heavy footsteps crunched on broken glass. Three men in tactical gear emerged from the remaining SUV, assault rifles raised.
