Chapter 4: The Eight O'Clock Ultimatum
The interior of the Bentley was a soundproof vault, a stark contrast to the storm raging in Jane’s mind. She had changed into a pristine white blouse she kept in the car, discarding the crimson dress as if shedding a cursed skin. White for a clean slate. White for the chilling void she was about to create.
She dialed a number that didn't exist on any public registry. It rang twice.
"Speak," a gravelly voice answered. It was Silas, a ghost who owed his life to Jane, entirely off her father's radar.
Jane looked out the tinted window at the graying sky. The storm clouds were rolling in, heavy and pregnant with rain. "It’s Jane. The Vanguard treaty is dead."
A pause on the line. Silas didn't ask questions. He only required logistics. "Understood. Targets?"
"Arthur and Eleanor Vanguard. Plus any loyalists inside the penthouse." Jane's voice didn't tremble. There was no hesitation, no moral wrestling. The empathy she once possessed had been systematically beaten out of her by the very people she was now sentencing to death.
"Timeline?"
Jane checked the diamond watch on her wrist. It was late afternoon. "Kill them all," she ordered, her tone flatter than a heart monitor flatlining. "I want them dead. Make sure they can't breathe before eight PM."
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"Eight PM. It will look like a gas leak, or perhaps a localized fire. No loose ends," Silas confirmed. The line went dead.
Jane rested her head back against the leather. The countdown had begun. By 8:00 PM, the Vanguard name would be reduced to ashes, and she would finally be free to face her father on her own terms.
