I looked down at the bright digital screen.
A single unread message from an encrypted military transponder:
INCOMING ENCRYPTION SHIPMENT // PRIORITY ALPHA
# LAURA:
THE VANCE FAMILY WAS A DISPOSABLE PAWN.
YOUR GRANDFATHER'S INHERITANCE NEVER HAD TO DO WITH REAL ESTATE.
THE MASTER QUANTUM FIGURES OF
THE U.S. NUCLEAR SUBMARINE FLEET IS INCORPORATED INTO YOUR CHILD'S BIOLOGICAL FILE FOR BIRTH.
TAKE THE BABY TO THE DOCK FOUR BEFORE THE SUNSET...
OR THE PORT OF MIAMI WILL DROWN UNDER FORTY FEET OF WATER.
– UNCLE ARTHUR
My breathing got caught behind my ribs.
I lowered my hands and firmly supported them on my belly, feeling my baby kicking with fierce, unwavering and sovereign strength.
Domestic deception was shattered.
The treacherous husband was in chains.
And the final and apocalyptic war for my grandfather's lineage and my son's life...
I looked up at Marcus Vance, his eyes burning from an unwavering and terrifying determination:
...waited in the depths of the Atlantic.
Featured image URL
At 14:15 Eastern time, the tropical afternoon sun fell to lead over hurricane-resistant glass windows that went from floor to ceiling of the U.S. attorney’s executive suite on the twelfth floor of the Wilkie D. Ferguson Jr.
The air inside the room was icy to sharp, aseptic sixty-two degrees, smelling like a laser-printed toner, aged mahogany and dark Cuban espresso.
Sitting on the leather chair, with both hands resting on my four-month-old belly. Under my linen dress, the heartbeat of life was unmistakable: a constant, rhythmic pulse that felt less like frailty and more like a heart anchored within a fortress.
