Chapter 7 - The Breakers at the Gate
The red emergency strip lighting overhead flickered, then dimmed to a dull, bruised amber as the penthouse’s auxiliary power reserves began to strain under the heavy lockdown protocols.
“If it’s not the marshals, who is it?” I asked, standing up slowly and letting the ruined guardianship document flutter down onto Arthur’s chest like a dead leaf.
“Patrick didn't just threaten your ports, Roman,” Naomi said, her fingers flying across her phone screen to pull up the encrypted security feeds from the lobby elevator banks. “While we were dealing with Arthur, Patrick’s elite cleanup squad bypassed the local police entirely. They’re coming up through the private freight shaft.”
On the small screen, a grainy night-vision feed showed four heavily armed operatives in unmarked matte-black tactical gear sliding silently out of the service freight car on the 4th floor, carrying heavy breaching charges and specialized thermal cutting torches.
Arthur’s terrified expression suddenly twisted into a manic, desperate grin of absolute survival.
“You’re too late,” Arthur laughed hysterically, blood bubbling on his lips. “Patrick’s enforcers don't negotiate. They don't take prisoners. They’re going to burn this entire glass box to the ground with all of us inside!”
I didn't waste another breath on him. I turned my head toward the dark hallway leading to the children’s bedrooms.
“Jack! Rosie!” I called out, my voice sharp enough to cut through the tension.
A moment later, the door at the end of the hall clicked open. Jack stepped out into the dim light, his small shoulders rigid, holding his little sister’s hand tightly. Rosie’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed, but she wasn't crying anymore.
“Dad?” Jack asked, his voice steady despite the trembling of his chin. “Are the bad guys here?”
“Listen to me very carefully,” I said, kneeling down so I was eye-level with my son. I pulled the heavy, matte-black Glock I had taken from the guard earlier out of my belt and handed it to Naomi, keeping only my custom Sig Sauer. “Naomi, take the kids through the panic bunker in the master walk-in closet. The secondary egress leads straight down to the underground boat slips on the river. Do not stop for anything.”
“And you?” Naomi asked, her eyes searching my face with fierce, unyielding loyalty.
“I’m going to go welcome Patrick’s cleanup crew,” I said softly.
May you like
Before Naomi could argue, a massive, thunderous boom echoed through the penthouse as a linear cutting charge blew the heavy steel doors of the private freight elevator completely off their hydraulic tracks.
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