Chapter 37 - The Glass Citadel
The private jet sliced through the heavy storm clouds over northern New Jersey, descending toward the glittering skyline of Manhattan as twilight fell. The city below looked like an ocean of diamonds, indifferent to the silent war being fought in its high-altitude penthouses.
David held Leo securely in a tactical infant carrier strapped against his chest, wearing a heavy dark overcoat. Frank checked his sidearm one final time before holstering it beneath his tailored suit. We didn't look like fugitives anymore. We looked like the rightful owners of an empire coming to collect an overdue rent.
A convoy of three armored black Suburbans met us on the tarmac at Teterboro. Escorted by federal marshals with sealed federal warrants, we crossed the Hudson River through the Lincoln Tunnel without stopping for a single red light.
Vance Tower rose seventy stories into the night sky, a monolithic spire of reflective black glass on Park Avenue. The lobby was cordoned off with private security, but the moment our lead vehicle pulled up to the curb, four federal agents stepped out, displaying badges that froze the building's guards in their tracks.
"Evelyn Miller," the lead agent said, holding the heavy brass entrance door open for me. "The floor is yours."
We entered the private express elevator to the sixty-eighth floor—the executive suite of Vance Holdings. As the elevator ascended, the pressure popped in my ears.
"Are you ready for this, David?" I asked.
David adjusted the strap on Leo's carrier, his eyes fixed on the illuminated floor numbers ticking upward: 65... 66... 67... 68.
"I spent my whole life being afraid of making waves, Mom," David said softly. "Afraid of disappointing you, afraid of losing Chloe, afraid of not looking successful. I’m done being afraid. Let's finish it."
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The elevator doors chimed and slid open into a palatial, two-story penthouse suite. Floor-to-ceiling glass offered a staggering view of Central Park, but the atmosphere inside was suffocating with tension.
Standing in the center of the vast marble floor was Arthur Vance. Sitting on a white leather sofa behind him, trembling and clutching an iced water glass with white knuckles, was Chloe.
