Chapter 10 - The Race Against Time10 -
I hit the street-level exit of the bank stairwell like a sprinter bursting out of starting blocks. The cold Chicago rain hit my face like a shower of needles, washing away the sweat and adrenaline of the vault confrontation, but my pulse was still hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I didn't head toward the main entrance where my private car was supposed to be waiting. If Vanguard Global Interests had compromised the bank’s security detail, they had likely compromised my transport as well. Instead, I ducked into the crowded underground subway station entrance across the street, pulling the hood of my trench coat low over my head and blending seamlessly into the evening commuter rush.
My burner phone buzzed violently in my pocket.
I pulled it out as I squeezed onto a packed southbound train car, shielding the screen with my hand. It was an encrypted text message from Ms. Parker:
“Emily, where are you? Security at the penthouse just called. Two unidentified men tried to access the private elevator on the tenth floor ten minutes ago. Your private detail locked down the unit, but you need to get back here now!”
A cold wave of nausea washed over me. They weren't just playing games at the bank; they were mounting a direct assault on the downtown penthouse while Ethan was inside.
“Hold the line, Ms. Parker,” I typed back furiously with one thumb as the train lurched forward into the dark tunnel. “I’m five stops away. Call Detective Vance immediately. Tell him to deploy tactical backup to the penthouse right now!”
The minutes ticking by on the digital clock above the train doors felt like agonizing hours. Every time the train slowed down at a station, my muscles coiled tighter, ready to spring. I clutched my father’s leather portfolio tightly against my chest, the hard edges pressing firmly against my ribs. The letters inside weren't just family history anymore; they were the operational blueprint of the syndicate that was trying to erase my bloodline.
When the train finally screeched to a halt at my stop, I didn't wait for the doors to fully open before elbowing my way through the crowd and sprinting up the concrete stairs into the rain-drenched street.
The luxury high-rise apartment building loomed ahead, its sleek glass facade glowing against the dark, stormy night. But something was wrong.
The usual private security cruiser parked outside the main lobby was empty, its driver-side door swinging open in the wind. The glass front doors of the lobby were shattered into a thousand glittering shards across the pavement.
My heart skipped a beat. They had breached the building.
I didn't use the front entrance. I ducked into the alleyway beside the building, accessing the secure maintenance service door using the emergency override code Ms. Parker had given me on day one.
The service elevator was offline—disabled from the main control room, no doubt. That meant I had to take the stairs.
Twelve flights of concrete steps. My legs, still recovering from the severe trauma of the coma and the car crash, burned with fiery agony with every single stride. My lungs felt as though they were inhaling molten lead. But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.
Ethan is up there, my mind chanted with every step. My baby is waiting for me.
When I finally reached the tenth-floor landing, the heavy fire door was blown off its hydraulic hinges, leaning crazily against the hallway wall.
The plush carpet of the 10th-floor hallway was littered with shattered ceramic vases, overturned tables, and the spent brass casings of tactical rifle rounds.
I crept forward, pressing my back against the wall, gripping the tactical stun baton in my right hand.
May you like
As I approached the double doors of our penthouse suite, I heard a man’s voice speaking from inside the living room—smooth, calm, and utterly chilling.
“You have wonderful artwork, young man,” the voice said. “Your mother always did have exquisite taste in interior design. Too bad she couldn't stay to enjoy it.”
