Chapter 8 - The Sledgehammer of Truth
Eleanor reached into the heavy utility belt resting on the guard she had knocked out in the kitchen. She unclipped a heavy, ten-pound iron breaching hammer—a tool designed specifically for executive security teams to break through reinforced doors during a hostage crisis.
She threw the shotgun strap over her shoulder, grabbed the iron hammer in both hands, and began marching up the grand marble staircase, her rubber boots splashing through the torrents of water flowing down the steps.
The guard at the top of the landing pulled his sidearm, but before he could clear his holster, Chloe—acting on pure, blind survival instinct—hurled a heavy bronze statue of a horse from a nearby pedestal straight at his head.
The statue struck the guard square in the chest, knocking him off balance. He tumbled down six marble steps, landing in a heap at Eleanor's feet.
Eleanor didn't even slow down. She stepped over him, reaching the top of the landing, and approaching the heavy, locked mahogany door of the east wing suite.
"Julian!" she yelled, pounding her fist against the wood. "Are you alright?!"
"Mom!" Julian's voice shouted back from behind the thick oak. "I'm fine, but the door is locked from the outside! It's a six-inch solid core with an internal steel plate! You can't break it open without a key!"
"I don't need a key," Eleanor growled.
She planted her feet wide on the wet carpet, raised the heavy iron breaching hammer high above her right shoulder, and swung it with every ounce of strength stored within her iron frame.
CRACK!
The iron head strikes the lock mechanism with the sound of a cannon shot. Wood splinters exploded into the air, but the heavy steel deadbolt held firm.
"Mom, stop!" Julian shouted through the wood. "You're going to hurt yourself!"
"Shut up, Julian!" Eleanor barked, pulling the hammer back once more. "I built this company, I built this house, and I am NOT letting a third-rate security guard and a low-rent fraudster steal my family!"
She swung again.
CRACK!
The heavy brass lock sheared off completely, falling onto the floor inside the room. Eleanor raised her foot and delivered a violent, unrelenting kick straight to the center of the door.
The heavy mahogany door burst open, slamming violently against the interior wall.
Julian stood inside, staring at his mother in absolute awe and terror.
Eleanor tossed the heavy hammer aside, wiped a combination of soot, water, and sweat from her brow, and she looked thirty-year-old billionaire lipstick dead in the eye.
"Get out here, Julian," she commanded. "We have a wedding to cancel."
Before Julian could step across the threshold, a loud, sinister applause echoed from the far end of the long corridor.
Marcus Vance stepped out from the shadows of the master bedroom, holding a high-powered tactical shotgun resting lazily against his shoulder. Walking beside him, her face bruised and her dusty-rose dress covered in soot, was Victoria.
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Victoria held a small, black remote detonator in her hand, her eyes twisted into an expression of unhinged, manic delight.
"How touching," Victoria sneezed, her voice echoing over the wail of the fire sirens. "The loving family reunited at last."
