Chapter 5 - The Tunnels Beneath
The metal ladder inside the hatch was slippery with dark mold and rust. I went down first, carrying Lily securely against my chest, my feet finding the narrow rungs by pure instinct in the pitch-black darkness.
“Caroline, drop down!” I yelled up through the hatch. “Bring Maya!”
Above us, the deafening roar of gunfire erupted inside the tiny vault.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Muffled screams echoed through the shaft, followed by the heavy thump of a body hitting the concrete floor.
Caroline let out a blood-curdling shriek from above. A second later, Maya was lowered down through the opening. I caught the girl around her waist, setting her down safely on the damp concrete floor of the drainage tunnel beside Lily.
Then Caroline tumbled down the ladder, landing hard on her knees.
“Julian!” she screamed, scrambling back toward the ladder, her face distorted by agonizing grief. “JULIAN!”
I grabbed her around her waist, dragging her back from the shaft. “Caroline, stop! We can’t go back! He gave us a chance—don't throw it away!”
A deep, sinister voice echoed down from the top of the hatch. “They went down into the drains! Flush them out!”
I slammed the heavy iron hatch shut from below and slammed the emergency locking bar into place. A second later, heavy blows began hammering against the iron from above, sending rust flakes showering down on our heads.
“Move!” I barked, grabbing the flashlight from my pocket and switching it on.
The narrow beam cut through the thick fog of the storm tunnel. The subterranean corridor was roughly six feet wide, its curved concrete walls covered in slime and old graffiti. Water rushed around our ankles, freezing cold and smelling faintly of sulfur.
I took Lily’s hand in mine and grabbed Maya’s with the other. Caroline stumbled along behind us, her eyes hollow, sobbing silently as she held her bruised arm.
We ran through the echoing darkness for what felt like miles. The sound of hammering against the hatch faded behind us, replaced only by the splashing of our feet in the foul water and the frantic, ragged sound of our breathing.
After twenty minutes of winding through the underground maze, the narrow tunnel opened up into a wider junction room where three massive drainage pipes converged.
“Which way?” Caroline gasped, leaning against the damp brick wall to catch her breath. “Mark, which way do we go?”
I pulled out the folded paper Julian had given me before we fled. I unfolded it under the beam of my flashlight.
It wasn't just a map of the city’s drainage network. It was a detailed hand-drawn blueprint, covered in fine grid lines, dates, and names. At the top of the page, written in neat, precise cursive, was a title:
THE VANCE LEDGER: ASSET DISTRIBUTION & FEDERAL CONTACTS.
My heart skipped a beat. This wasn't a escape route map—it was an evidence file.
“This isn't just a map,” I whispered, scanning the tiny handwriting. “It’s a list of names. High-ranking officials, police chiefs, judges… all paid off by Vance’s network for the last twenty years.”
Caroline stared at the paper, her breath catching in her throat. “That’s… that’s why Vance hunted Julian for six years. Julian didn't just escape from Vance—he stole his entire blackmail archive.”
“If this paper gets to the Federal Prosecutor’s office, Vance’s whole empire collapses overnight,” I realized, the full magnitude of the situation hitting me like a freight train. “That’s why his men stormed our house tonight. They weren't just coming for Julian or Maya. They were coming for this.”
Suddenly, a bright white light flared from the far end of the left drainage pipe.
CLICK-CLACK.
The unmistakable sound of a shotgun shell being racked into a chamber echoed down the concrete tunnel.
“Drop the paper, Davis,” a smooth, cultured voice called out from the darkness.
A tall, impeccably dressed man in a tailored grey suit stepped out of the shadows, flanked by two heavily armed guards in tactical gear. He wore silver-framed spectacles and held a silver-tipped walking cane in one hand. His hair was slicked back, untouched by the subterranean dampness.
Caroline gasped, her body going completely rigid.
“Victor Vance,” she whispered in utter horror.
May you like
The man smiled, revealing a row of unnaturally perfect white teeth. “Hello, Caroline. You’ve grown up to look just like your foolish mother.”
His eyes drifted down to the paper in my hand, and his smile broadened into a cold, lethal glare. “And you must be Mark. The innocent husband who got dragged into a play he was never meant to star in.”
