Chapter 4 - Blood in the Glass
The heavy glass doors of the penthouse living room shattered inward with a deafening crash.
A shower of crystal-clear shards rained across the Italian marble floor as three men in tactical black gear poured into the suite. Their faces were obscured by reinforced ceramic helmets, and their hands gripped silenced automatic rifles. They moved with terrifying, military-grade precision, sweeping the room in seconds.
"Target sighted in the archive corridor," the lead operative spoke sharply into his shoulder mic, his voice distorted by a digital modulator. "Secure the boy. Eliminate the adults."
Richard threw himself in front of Evelyn’s wheelchair, shielding her body with his own, his face twisted in terror. "Wait! Name your price! I can give you millions—billions—transfer whatever you want right now!"
The lead operative didn't even slow down. He raised his rifle, aiming directly at Richard’s chest. "The Syndicate leaves no witnesses to the bloodline."
Before the finger could squeeze the trigger, a small shadow flashed across the room.
Toby didn't run away; he lunged forward. With a speed that defied physical logic, the small boy leaped off the edge of a mahogany side table, launching himself directly at the lead operative.
Before the gunman could adjust his aim, Toby slammed both palms squarely against the operative’s armored chest plate.
A sharp, blinding blue arc of light—like a miniature lightning bolt—flashed from Toby’s hands.
The sound of a heavy electrical discharge filled the room. The lead operative stiffened violently, his entire body seizing up as every circuit in his tactical gear short-circuited in a shower of sparks. The man dropped his rifle, his knees buckling, and he crashed unconscious to the floor.
The remaining two operatives stared in stunned disbelief for a fraction of a second before pivoting their weapons toward the boy.
"Shoot him!" the second operative yelled.
Toby rolled across the floor, snatching the dropped rifle from the carpet. Though the weapon was far too heavy for a normal twelve-year-old, Toby swung it with unnerving accuracy, using the butt of the gun to sweep the legs of the nearest attacker while channeling another pulse of energy through his bare feet into the hardwood floor.
A wave of kinetic vibration rippled across the room, throwing the second operative off balance and sending him crashing backward through the floor-to-ceiling glass window into the night air thirty-five stories above the street.
The third operative raised his weapon, trembling behind his helmet, aiming directly at Toby’s head. "Monster..." he breathed.
Before he could fire, a heavy bronze sculpture flew across the room, striking him square in the helmet with bone-cracking force.
Richard Vance lowered his hands, panting heavily, having hurled the heavy art piece with all the strength left in his terrified body. The operative collapsed to the carpet, motionless.
Silence descended once again on the wrecked penthouse suite. Shards of glass glittered under the moonlight. The wind howled through the broken window, chilling the air.
Richard turned around slowly, his chest heaving, his eyes wide as saucers as he looked down at Toby. The boy was standing amidst the broken glass, his oversized shirt slightly torn at the shoulder, breathing normally, the faint blue glow slowly fading from his fingertips.
"What... what are you?" Richard whispered, his voice trembling uncontrollably.
Toby looked down at his own hands, then up at Richard. "I told you. I'm Elena's grandson. And the people who sent them are the ones who killed your parents, Richard."
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Evelyn gripped her wheelchair wheels, rolling herself forward past the unconscious guards, her eyes burning with a terrible, awakening fury. "My parents didn't die in a natural fire... did they?"
Toby looked at her, his expression filled with profound sorrow. "No. They found out what your father did to Elena. They tried to leave the family and expose the cover-up. So the board had them silenced."
