Chapter 8 - The Shadow of the Matriarch
The sudden sound of heavy footsteps reverberated through the hollow staircase outside Clara’s apartment door. There was no attempt at stealth now—the heavy thud of combat boots against worn hardwood was deliberate, intimidation meant to freeze its prey.
""Get Lily,"" Marcus commanded, drawing his service weapon from the shoulder holster beneath his coat. ""The fire escape leads to the back alley. My car is parked three blocks south behind the laundromat.""
""Marcus, who put the drive in her coat?"" Clara demanded, refusing to move until she knew what she was running into. ""Tell me!""
""It was Eleanor's personal assistant, Miller,"" Marcus muttered, his eyes fixed on the apartment's deadbolt. ""He's been working as an undercover informant for the Department of Justice for eighteen months. He knew tonight was the transfer, but Julian caught him copying the files. Miller hid the drive in Lily's coat before they broke his legs in the basement cellar.""
Clara's blood ran cold. The sheer brutality of the Vance family was a monster she had only seen in glimpses, but now it had shed its velvet skin entirely.
BANG.
The front door shook against its hinges as a heavy boot slammed into the wood. The deadbolt splintered the doorframe, dust showering onto the worn welcome mat.
""Clara! Open the door!"" Julian’s voice snarled from the other side, thick with rage and completely unhinged. ""Give me what's in that coat, or I swear to God I'll tear this entire building down to the foundation!""
""Now, Clara!"" Marcus hissed, stepping in front of the door with his gun raised in both hands. ""Go!""
Clara dashed into the bedroom. Lily was already sitting upright in bed, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit to her chest, her hazel eyes wide with pure terror.
""Mommy? Who's shouting?"" Lily whimpered, tears already welling in her eyes.
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""Shh, baby, we're playing an adventure game,"" Clara whispered fiercely, pulling a dark woolen sweater over the child's head and wrapping her in a warm blanket. ""We have to be as quiet as little mice, okay? Not a single peep.""
Lily nodded bravely, burying her face into Clara's neck. Clara scooped the five-year-old up, raced back into the kitchen, and climbed out onto the iron fire escape just as the front door gave way behind them with a deafening crash of splintering wood and shouted curses.
