Chapter 52 - The Trap Springs
The room instantly plunged into absolute silence. The rhythmic lapping of the river outside seemed to fade away, replaced by the heavy, collective breathing of the four people standing around the oak table.
Dominic raised his hand, gesturing for everyone to step back toward the shadow of the tall bookshelves. He drew his Browning Hi-Power from its holster, the slide making a sharp, metallic clack as he chambered a round.
"Who's out there?" Dominic called out, his voice cutting through the quiet room with cold, authoritative precision.
A muffled, cultured voice filtered through the thick oak panels of the door. "Mr. Russo, please put the firearm away. It’s entirely unnecessary, and quite frankly, beneath a man of your professional background. My name is Director Arthur Sterling Jr.—and unlike my late father, I prefer to settle institutional disputes over a civilized conversation rather than a federal indictment."
Alistair stiffened, his face draining of all color. "Junior? I thought the son died in a mountaineering accident in the Swiss Alps back in nineteen-eighty-two."
"Reports of my demise, Alistair, were greatly exaggerated by the university's public relations department," the voice replied smoothly through the wood. "Now, be so good as to unlock the door. We have sixty seconds before the federal tactical unit currently surrounding your perimeter decides to breach the windows with flashbangs."
Dominic looked toward Julianna, who was frantically checking her laptop telemetry. Her face went white.
"He's not bluffing," Julianna whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Cellular signal jammers just saturated the area. Our external data relays are completely dead. We're isolated."
Dominic didn't hesitate. He looked at Casey, his eyes filled with absolute, unyielding resolve. "Get to the Prohibition tunnel entrance behind the western bookshelf. Take the encrypted drives and the ledgers."
"I'm not leaving you here, Dom," Casey said fiercely, stepping forward.
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"You aren't leaving," Alistair interrupted, stepping between them with a remarkably calm, almost reckless smile playing across his aristocratic lips. He reached into his tweed jacket and pulled out a small, heavy brass cylinder with a red pull-pin—an antique military smoke and signal flare from his British intelligence days. "My dear Casey, Dominic is entirely right. But you are forgetting one crucial detail: my niece Julianna and I are alumni of Her Majesty’s finest evasion courses. And Arthur Jr. has always possessed his father's unfortunate habit of arrogance."
Before Dominic could stop him, Alistair stepped resolutely toward the front door, his hand resting casually on the deadbolt.
