Chapter 7 - The Chandelier Drop
The explosion of sound inside the soundproof office was deafening.
Glass, crystal pendants, and heavy brass fragments rained down in a glittering cascade over the federal agents, forcing Vance and his men to throw their arms up and stumble backward into the hallway.
“Move, Casey!” Dominic roared, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist with a grip like iron.
He didn't run toward the main dining room. Instead, he kicked open a hidden secondary panel behind the mahogany bookshelf—a private service elevator disguised as wall paneling that I hadn't even noticed during my months working the floor.
“Get in!” Dominic commanded, shoving me past the threshold into the dimly lit steel cabin.
I didn't hesitate. I clutched the fifty-thousand-dollar check in my left hand, my fountain pen secure in my apron pocket, and tumbled into the elevator as Dominic slammed the heavy steel gate shut and hit the basement descent button.
Above us, muffled shouts echoed through the ceiling as the federal agents recovered from the shock of the gunshot.
The elevator dropped with a sickening, rapid lurch, plunging down into the bowels of the East Side building. The air grew damp, smelling of old brick, damp earth, and the faint, unmistakable brine of the nearby East River drainage tunnels that ran beneath the city’s historic commercial district.
“You just declared open war on the FBI,” I said, breathing heavily as the steel walls rattled around us. “If they didn't have enough to lock you up for ten years before, shooting out a chandelier in front of federal officers just added a dozen felony counts to your docket.”
Dominic stood beside the control panel, his expression completely unreadable in the amber emergency light. He reloaded his pistol with a practiced, mechanical click, sliding a fresh magazine into the grip.
“The FBI didn't find us tonight by accident, Casey,” Dominic said quietly, his eyes fixed on the descending floor numbers. “Vance didn't just happen to be waiting in the alley with a signed warrant ten minutes after I hired you.”
My blood ran cold. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying my legal team wasn't just incompetent,” Dominic said, his jaw tightening. “Someone inside my inner circle—someone with access to the unredacted shipping manifests—leved the information straight to the bureau. And they used you as the catalyst to flush me out.”
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The elevator car came to a jarring, sudden halt with a heavy metallic thud.
The manual gate slid open to reveal not a parking garage or a kitchen exit, but a dark, narrow concrete tunnel lit by flickering overhead industrial bulbs.
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