Chapter 66 - The Dead Patriarch's Protocol
Alistair Montgomery looked at the ruined basement with the cold, detached amusement of an architect inspecting a demolished wall.
His face was gaunt, lined with the severe arrogance of eighty years of absolute power, but his dark eyes burned with an icy, terrifying vitality. He wore a bespoke charcoal overcoat over an impeccably tailored three-piece suit, showing no sign of the fiery shipwreck that had allegedly claimed his life four years ago in the North Sea.
"You always lacked imagination, Julian," Alistair said, his voice a low, resonant gravel that commanded the damp room. "A sledgehammer? How pedestrian. That transponder was worth forty million dollars in proprietary neural patents."
Julian stood frozen, his arm hanging limp, his eyes wide with an emotion that bordered on complete psychological collapse. "Father? You... you died in Aberdeen. I identified the dental records."
"You identified what my trust attorneys paid you to identify, boy," Alistair replied smoothly, tapping his cane against the concrete. "Victoria, take the child."
Victoria stepped forward, a vicious, predatory smile spreading across her aristocratic features. Her bruises had been powdered over, her hair pinned back. "With pleasure."
"Take one more step, Victoria, and I’ll tear your throat out with my teeth," Elena said. She didn't have a weapon, but she stood over the table like a wounded wolf, shielding her baby with her entire body.
Alistair chuckled—a dry, rattling sound. "Magnificent. I told Victoria you were made of sterner stuff than the other pedigree bitches Julian brought home. A girl from the South Boston docks. Grit. Fire. Survival instinct. That’s why you survived the plunge from the yacht, Elena."
Elena’s blood turned to liquid fire. "You planned it. You told her to push me."
"Of course I did," Alistair said, taking a slow step into the room. His security team fanned out, their rifle muzzles locked onto Julian and Peter. "The Montgomery bloodline had grown soft. Decadent. Julian was a spineless academic. Thomas was a violent sociopath. I needed an heir bred from steel, not champagne. I needed a mother who would fight through fire, water, and federal indictments to keep my legacy alive."
He pointed the tip of his gold-headed cane at the crying infant in Elena's arms.
"She survived the island. She survived the sub pens. She survived the plunge into Gravesend Bay. Her blood has developed the exact epigenetic markers of extreme stress survival. She is the first viable Montgomery heir in three generations."
"She is not your heir!" Elena screamed. "She is my daughter!"
"She is a company asset, Elena," Alistair countered coldly. "And right now, the company requires her presence in Maine. Victoria, secure the asset. Kill the surgeon and the boy. We have a train to catch."
"No!" Julian lunged forward, throwing his battered body at his father.
A mercenary stepped into Julian’s path, driving the butt of an M4 rifle into his fractured ribs. Julian went down with a sickening crack, coughing blood onto the floor.
"Julian!" Elena cried out.
Before she could move, two private contractors pinned Elena’s arms behind her back. Victoria walked up to the operating table, her manicured fingers curling around the wool swaddle, and ripped the screaming infant from Elena's grasp.
"You lose, little dock rat," Victoria whispered into Elena’s ear, her breath smelling of peppermint and cold venom. "You were just the incubator."
"Look at me, Victoria!" Elena raged, thrashing violently against the guards, her fingernails tearing into the contractor's forearm until flesh ripped. "I will hunt you to the ends of the earth! I will burn your house down around your ears! Give me my baby!"
Alistair turned toward the door without looking back. "Put them on the railcar. The girl comes with us. The rest... leave them for the harbor rats."
May you like
A heavy blow struck the back of Elena's skull, and the world dissolved into blackness.
***
