Chapter 2 - THE FALL OF HAROLD WHITCOMB
Before Vance could even reach the grand staircase, heavy leather boots echoed across the marble floor. Two dozen private security guards, mobilized by Rourke’s digital command, poured through every entrance of the bank, sealing the exits in a matter of seconds. The heavy bronze security shutters slammed down over the front windows, plunging the opulent lobby into a dramatic, amber-tinted gloom.
The wealthy clients panicked, scrambling toward the doors only to find them locked tight.
“Open these doors!” the woman in pearls shrieked, clutching her designer bag. “Do you know who my husband is? He’s on the city council!”
“Quiet,” Vance’s voice boomed like thunder through the lobby, silencing the crowd instantly as he parted the sea of terrified socialites and walked straight toward the private banking counter.
Harold Whitcomb was shaking so violently he could barely stand. He dropped the black card onto the counter as if it were burning his flesh.
Vance stepped up, picked up the card with two fingers, and slipped it into his breast pocket. Then, with one massive hand, he grabbed Harold by the expensive silk lapels of his suit and hauled him bodily across the counter.
“P-Please!” Harold whimpered, his feet dangling inches off the marble. “I didn't know! The system didn't flag the name until—!”
“You laughed,” Vance said coldly. “You called her a liar.”
“Mr. Rourke wants a word,” another guard stated, gesturing toward the private elevator as the doors slid open to reveal Lucas standing inside, his face carved from stone.
Vance dragged Harold across the floor like a sack of garbage, tossing him onto the carpeted floor of the elevator car. At the same time, Vance knelt down in front of the little girl, his intimidating expression softening into something remarkably gentle.
“Hey there,” Vance said, extending a massive, calloused hand. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The girl looked up, her big brown eyes—Hannah’s eyes—studying the giant man cautiously.
“Mia,” she whispered.
“Well, Mia, your daddy is upstairs waiting for you. And trust me, nobody is ever going to laugh at you again.”
Mia’s tiny brow furrowed. “My daddy isn't here. My mommy said he went away before I was born.”
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Vance offered a tight, grim smile. “Your mommy didn't know everything, kiddo. Come with me.”
He gently took her small, cold hand, lifting her into the private elevator alongside the sobbing, broken bank director. The doors closed, sealing them away from the terrified crowd below.
