Page 22 of Old Money, Deadly Secrets

Margaret’s gaze darted to the screen embedded in the wall. A large, matte-black SUV was turning onto the long, winding driveway leading to the farm.

Then, she saw it. Tiny, bright flashes of light erupted from the tree line on the screen. A split second later, sparks flared off the side and windshield of the SUV.

Margaret gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, but the vehicle didn’t stop. It didn’t even swerve. The bullets simply bounced off the heavy, up-armored plating as the SUV accelerated, tearing up the gravel as it barreled toward the safety of the inner gates.

“They’re taking fire,” Lukas said into his comms, his voice eerily calm, the slight accent more noticeable in the clipped precision of his report. “Armor is holding. Gate is opening now.”

Around the room, the everyday domesticity barely wavered, though the adults communicated volumes in silent glances. Flora’s hand tightened briefly on the edge of the table, but she didn’t break her serene expression, pointing to a new equation to keep Kenzi’s attention focused downward. Eloise’s knitting needles paused for only a fraction of a second. Elena simply raised her voice a cheerful decibel higher as she turned the page of the storybook, completely masking the tension in the room from the toddlers.

Rhys, however, wasn’t fooled.

The eleven-year-old dropped his pencil. Understanding exactly what the muffled thump of heavy caliber rounds against armor meant, he slid out of his chair and moved quietly across the room to stand beside Lukas. His young face was entirely devoid of childish fear; instead, his eyes locked on the tactical monitor with intense, analytical focus as the SUV tore through the gates on the screen. Lukas didn’t send him back to his seat; acknowledging the boy’s training, he just shifted slightly, making room for Rhys to observe.

Rhys leaned in, his voice a soft, almost imperceptible whisper that only Lukas and the keenly observing Margaret could catch. “Was that sniper fire, Lukas?”

Lukas didn’t answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the screen as the SUV cleared the inner perimeter. “They’re through. Gates closing,” he reported a moment later, exhaling a slow breath. He lowered his hand from his ear and gave Flora a single, tight nod. “They’re secure. Link is calling Bear and I am willing to bet that the men will be home in the next twenty minutes.”

Slowly, the underlying tactical tension in the room dialed back. Eloise resumed knitting. Rhys lingered by the monitors, analyzing the now-empty driveway, before quietly returning to his geometry. Salty let out a soft whine, then resettled his head on Elena’s lap, resuming his nap.

A giggle escaped Margaret, then another, bubbling up uncontrollably until she was shaking with silent mirth. Flora, Elena, and Noor looked at her in surprise, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern.

Margaret dabbed a tear of laughter from her eye. “Oh, it’s simply... I was just reminiscing about my bridge club gatherings back in Richmond Heights. Or the ladies on the charity luncheon committee.” She waved her hand elegantly toward the now tranquil monitor. “If any of those dear women had witnessed such a dreadful scene, why, they would be all aflutter, my dear. There would be fainting couches brought out in a jiffy, shrieks piercing the air, and no doubt someone would insist on a fresh linen napkin to gently blot their tears.”

Elena let out a hearty snort of laughter. “Indeed. And I imagine an urgent request for the finest champagne, to calm one’s shattered nerves, naturally. Perhaps a luxurious fainting couch, made of imported silk?”

Noor’s eyes sparkled, a gentle smile on her lips and a faint blush on her cheeks as she joined in the fun. “Maybe it’s about how to look graceful even when you’re panicking, of course with a nice little purse to hold that matches your outfit.”

Even Eloise, a slight smile playing on her lips, chimed in, her German accent adding a playful lilt. “And the scandal to dirty one’s precious cashmere with anything else but a silver bullet hole, ja? Simply dreadful!”

Margaret could hardly believe what she had just witnessed. Their easy laughter, the shared, sarcastic understanding, was another facet of this world she was only just beginning to grasp. There was no weeping. No pacing. No panicked whispers. The entire scene was one of startling normalcy, a powerful, living testament to a “new normal” carved out by people who intimately understood how to survive when the world went up in flames.

The sheer ingenuity of it all left Margaret breathless. They had integrated a command-level bunker into the very heart of their domestic life, blending absolute security with the mundane beauty of homework and bedtime stories. She knew Moose would have personally ensured Elena was secured before he sped off with Bear and Dog. She knew Sammy, Link’s adopted son, was likely upstairs in the War Room, a testament to how this family valued skills and capability over coddling.

This wasn’t just a farmhouse. It was a fortress, forged from love and absolute necessity. Watching them, Margaret realized she was witnessing a quiet, unshakable strength. It was the exact kind of strength she desperately needed to find within herself if she was ever going to truly be free of Charles.

15 - DOG

The drive back from the burned-out clinic was a blur of grinding urgency. News of the sniper attack had reached them via encrypted comms, cutting short their assessment of the damage Charles’s goons had inflicted on his clinic. Dog, Bear, and Moose had strapped in, the familiar tension of a live threat coiling in their muscles. The farm was supposed to be safe. It had to be.

The reinforced SUV thundered toward the outer gate, barely slowing as it approached. Dog’s senses sharpened, every nerve stretched taut. The sniper was still out there, somewhere. Until Link’s voice came over the comms, he couldn’t be sure.

“Perimeter’s secure,” Link said firmly.

The gate groaned open. Dog exhaled, but didn’t relax.

Their first stop was not the War Room. Dog felt an insistent pull to see the women, especially Margaret. He wasn’t sure why she had become so important in just a few days, but a fierce protectiveness, stronger than anything he expected, now stirred deep inside him. Perhaps it was fear, or guilt, or something deeper he wasn’t ready to name. Whatever it was, he needed to see her. Needed to know she was safe.

The heavy steel door of the bunker hissed open, but what met him was unlike anything he’d expected.

Instead of panicked whispers or fearful tears, a chorus of bright, unrestrained laughter echoed off the concrete walls. Eloise, Flora, Elena, Noor, and Margaret were practically in tears, wiping their eyes as they chuckled. Dog stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in profound confusion. The stark, unyielding normalcy of the scene crashed against the violence he had just faced outside.

“Did we miss a joke?” Dog asked, looking between the laughing women and the children nearby. Flora and Elena were rising from their seats, still struggling to contain their laughter, as they moved to greet their husbands entering the room. The younger girls, Yasmin and Amina, remained absorbed in their play, with Amelia popping up to jump up in her dad, Bear’s arms. But Rhys, leaning against the sturdy table, and Kenzi, still sitting at the table, watched the women curiously, trying to figure out what was so funny.

Rhys just shrugged, a smirk playing on his young face. “They’re laughing about fancy couches or something ridiculous. I don’t know.” The eleven-year-old then shot Dog a remarkably cheeky grin. “Honestly, Uncle Dog, you’re old. Shouldn’t you understand women by now?”

Moose let out a bark of laughter.

Bear turned his face away to hide his smile, while making a symbolic attempt to reprimand his son, “Rhys!”