Chapter 9 - The Inner Sanctum
The elevator grated to a halt with a damp thud, opening directly into a subterranean corridor lined with polished concrete and exposed copper piping.
It didn't look like a hideout; it looked like a modern command center hidden beneath the city's infrastructure. Soft, recessed lighting traced the ceiling, and the low hum of climate-control systems vibrated through the floorboards.
Jack moved forward with absolute silence, his boots making no sound on the treated concrete. Alara followed close behind, holding her breath, her eyes darting down every intersecting hallway.
They reached a set of reinforced double mahogany doors at the end of the hall. Faint voices drifted from within—smooth, calm, and laced with chilling authority.
"...the federal transit flags have been cleared," a voice echoed through the heavy wood. Vincent Vance. "Once the asset transfer is complete tonight, the trust reverts to the primary holding board. No loose ends."
Jack didn't hesitate. He raised his boot and kicked the mahogany doors dead-center with a tremendous, splintering crash.
The heavy doors flew open, slamming against the interior walls.
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Inside, a spacious, minimalist office came into view. At the far end, sitting behind a massive glass desk, was Vincent Vance, dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit, a crystal glass of amber liquor in his hand. Two armed guards flanking the desk whipped their rifles around in sheer panic.
"Well, well," Vincent murmured, not even flinching as he took a slow sip of his drink, his cold eyes fixing on Jack and the baby carrier strapped to his chest. "I must hand it to you, nephew. You truly are difficult to exterminate."
