Chapter 8 - The Corporate Vault—The Boy with My Eyes

Silas had Ellie. Julian wanted both children. Grant and Vanessa had my son.

I was completely alone, armed with nothing but a heavy wrench and a satellite phone.

But I was a Kingsley. And they had underestimated exactly how much of my father’s ruthlessness ran in my veins.

I didn't go to the Hudson Yards helipad. I went straight into the belly of the beast: the Kingsley global headquarters in Manhattan.

The sixty-story glass skyscraper was heavily guarded, but my biometric thumbprint and the gold falcon phone still held master override privileges in the physical security matrix.

I bypassed the lobby turnstiles during the lunch rush, slipping into the private executive elevator. I rode it down to Sub-Level 5—the subterranean corporate vault where the physical trust ledgers were kept.

The elevator doors opened into a cavernous room of polished steel and bulletproof glass.

Standing in the center of the vault was my uncle, Silas. He was surrounded by four armed mercenaries.

And sitting on a leather chair, holding a stuffed bear and crying softly, was Ellie.

“Mommy!” Ellie screamed, trying to jump down, but a mercenary clamped a heavy hand onto her shoulder.

“Let her go, Silas,” I said, stepping out of the elevator.

“Ah, Mara,” Silas smiled, adjusting his bespoke tie. “I’m afraid you’ve become completely unhinged. The police are outside. Once I secure your signature transferring legal guardianship to me, you’ll be quietly committed to a private psychiatric facility in Switzerland.”

“You don't want my signature,” I said, walking slowly toward him. “You want Julian’s.”

Silas frowned. “Julian is dead.”

“Is he?”

Before Silas could react, the secondary blast doors at the far end of the vault hissed open.

Walking through the doors was Grant. Behind him was Vanessa.

And holding Vanessa’s hand was a four-year-old boy with dark hair and bright green eyes. My eyes.

My heart shattered in my chest. Leo. My son.

“What is this, Grant?” Silas demanded, his mercenaries raising their weapons toward the new arrivals. “I told you to eliminate Vanessa and bring me the girl!”

Grant chuckled, drawing a suppressed pistol from his jacket. “Change of plans, Silas. The real boss wants his throne back.”

From the shadows behind Grant, a tall figure stepped into the harsh fluorescent light of the vault.

He was older, his face scarred from the yacht explosion, but there was no mistaking him.

Julian Kingsley.

Silas went completely pale. “You… you’re alive.”

“Hello, Uncle,” Julian said, pulling a detonator from his pocket. “Thank you for keeping my seat warm. Now, kill him, Grant.”

---

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