Chapter 7 - The Final Stand
Time seemed to slow down to a crawl.
As Marcus lunged forward, his knife descending toward my chest, my instincts—honed by years of private tactical training with my father’s elite guards—took over.
Instead of screaming, I grabbed the heavy glass water pitcher and smashed it directly into the beam of his flashlight, shattering the bulb into darkness. At the same time, I rolled off the opposite side of the bed, pulling the heavy metal IV pole down with me like a javelin.
Marcus cursed in the dark, slashing wildly at the mattress. "Get back here, you bitch!"
I scrambled across the slick linoleum floor, my pregnant belly making movement agonizing, but adrenaline fueled every fiber of my body. I reached the hospital room door, slamming my palm against the manual override latch just as the emergency backup generator kicked back in with a loud hum.
The overhead fluorescent lights flashed violently to life.
Marcus whirled around, spotting me by the door, and charged like an enraged bull.
Before he could cross the room, the heavy steel door was blown inward off its hinges with a deafening crash.
My father stood in the doorway, flanked by four heavily armed naval commandos in full ballistic gear.
Marcus froze, his knife dropping from his numb fingers as three laser sights red-dotted his chest simultaneously.
"Drop to your knees!" my father roared, his voice carrying the terrifying authority of a four-star admiral commanding a battle group.
Marcus didn't hesitate. He dropped to his knees, throwing his hands behind his head as naval security officers swarmed him, slamming him face-first into the floor and slapping heavy steel cuffs onto his wrists.
My father didn't look at Marcus. He dropped his weapon, rushed across the room, and knelt beside me on the floor, pulling me gently into his arms.
"Gen... are you alright? Did he touch you?" my father asked, his voice trembling slightly for the first time in my life.
"I'm fine, Dad," I whispered, burying my face in his shoulder, tears of relief finally falling. "The baby is fine."
My father held me tight, then looked up at Dante, who stood in the shattered doorway holding a secure phone.
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"Secure the entire wing," my father ordered, his eyes burning with cold, absolute resolve. "And tell the federal prosecutor we are upgrading every single charge against the entire Vance family from corporate fraud to domestic terrorism and attempted assassination of a naval officer's family."
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