Full Story : Mother lost her mind—forcing toxic poison down her throat, but the maid's secret recording caught everything...

Chapter 6: Shadows at the Trial

Ten minutes later, Ethan’s SUV tore through the heavy gates of Vance Manor, tires screeching against the wet cobblestone driveway. The front doors of the mansion were wide open, warm yellow light spilling out into the dark night air.

Ethan drew a licensed firearm from the vehicle's glove compartment, locking the slide back with a sharp click. "Clara, stay in the car."

"I am not staying in the car while my baby is in danger!" Clara insisted fiercely, unbuckling her seatbelt. "I’m coming with you!"

"It’s too dangerous!"

"She is my daughter, Ethan!" Clara snapped, her eyes blazing with motherly fury. "We go together!"

Knowing there was no stopping her, Ethan took her hand, and they sprinted through the grand marble entrance hall. The floor was strewn with broken vases and overturned chairs. The mansion’s night guards were unconscious near the staircase, tied up and subdued.

Ethan crept up the sweeping staircase, every nerve on edge, his weapon pointed forward. They reached the third-floor corridor leading to the nursery. The nursery door was slightly ajar, a soft light streaming into the dark hallway.

Slowly, Ethan kicked the door fully open, moving into the room with his weapon raised.

Sitting in the plush rocking chair beside the crib was a tall, heavily built man wearing a dark tactical jacket. He had one hand resting casually over the edge of the wooden crib, where baby Grace lay cooing softly, oblivious to the danger.

"Point that gun away, Ethan Vance," the man said in a low, gravelly voice. He didn't look up; instead, he gently stroked the baby's soft pink blanket. "Or I press this trigger, and the charge under the floorboards detonates."

In his left hand, the man held a small red detonator switch.

Clara gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth to suppress a scream.

"Who sent you?" Ethan demanded, his voice dangerously low, his gun trained directly between the mercenary’s eyes. "Julian?"

The man chuckled softly, finally looking up. He had a deep scar running from his left eye down to his jawline. "Julian pays well, but he’s a idiot. He thinks money buys total loyalty. Me? I’m just a mercenary contractor. My job was to keep you here in New York while Julian’s team lands in Geneva to take care of your real mother."

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. "You're a distraction."

"A very effective one," the man smiled coldly. "If you step foot out of this room, I press the button. If you shoot me, my finger releases the dead-man switch, and this whole wing goes sky-high."

Clara took a slow, deliberate step forward, her hands raised in a placating gesture. "You're a professional," she said, her voice impossibly calm despite the terror racing through her heart. "Professionals work for money, not for Julian Sterling’s personal vendettas."

The mercenary raised an eyebrow at Clara. "Go on, Mrs. Vance."

"Julian’s accounts were frozen by the High Court two hours ago," Clara revealed, taking another tiny step closer. "Every check he writes after tonight will bounce. Every offshore transfer will be flagged by federal marshals. Whatever he promised to pay you… you will never see a single dime."

The man’s smile faded slightly. "I have a deposit already."

"A deposit won't pay for your defense when you're charged with domestic terrorism and kidnapping," Clara countered sharply. "Ethan is now the sole legitimate owner of both the Vance estate and Sterling Global. We can double whatever Julian offered you—and guarantee you walk out of this country alive without a federal warrant on your head."

The mercenary stayed silent for five agonizing seconds, his thumb hovering over the red detonator switch. The silence in the room was suffocating, broken only by the quiet hum of the baby’s sound machine.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounded from the balcony window behind the mercenary.

Before the man could turn his head, the heavy glass shattered inward as Marcus—who had followed them in a backup vehicle—swung through the window attached to a tactical climbing rope. Marcus tackled the mercenary out of the rocking chair, driving him violently into the far wall.

The detonator flew from the man’s hand, skidding across the wooden floor.

Ethan lunged forward, catching the detonator mid-air before it could hit the ground, keeping the dead-man switch compressed with his thumb!

"Clara! Get Grace!" Ethan yelled.

Clara scooped baby Grace into her arms, pulling her tightly against her chest and sprinting out of the nursery into the hallway.

On the floor, Marcus delivered two swift, brutal blows to the mercenary's jaw, knocking the man unconscious. Marcus pulled out a pair of zip-ties, binding the attacker’s hands firmly behind his back.

"Nice catch, boss," Marcus panted, wiping blood from his cheek. "He wasn't lying. I checked the perimeter—he had two spotters outside. They've already been neutralized by my men."

Ethan carefully disarmed the dead-man switch using a pin from Marcus’s gear, exhaling a long, ragged breath. He looked down at the unconscious mercenary, then at the clock on the wall. It was 11:15 PM.

"We have forty-five minutes before our flight to Switzerland," Ethan said, his resolve like forged steel. "Julian thinks he bought time. He thinks he’s going to murder my mother before I can reach her."