Chapter 26 - The Cellar Escape
I didn't move. My fingers dug into the worn leather binding of the 1894 ledger, the weight of a century of family secrets pressing against my palms. The tactical operative took a slow, measured step toward me, his boots clicking softly against the parquet floor, the black barrel of his suppressed weapon never wavering from my chest.
"I won't ask twice, Mrs. Sterling," the man said, his tone flat, bureaucratic, almost bored—which made it terrifying. "Mr. Vance prefers his acquisitions undamaged, but he isn't paying for your health insurance."
"You’re trespassing on private federal property," I bluffed, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "The local sheriff was notified the moment your boss drove through the gate."
The operative let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "The local sheriff is currently dealing with a multi-vehicle pileup on Route 9, courtesy of a stalled semi-truck arranged by our logistics team. Nobody is coming, Clara. Hand over the ledger."
He took another step closer. I could see the weave of his tactical vest, the metallic glint of a radio clipped to his shoulder.
*Now,* my instincts screamed.
With a sudden, desperate lunge, I hurled the heavy brass desk lamp straight at his face.
The man instinctively ducked, the heavy metal base grazing his shoulder and shattering against the bookshelf with a deafening crash. Sparks showered across the floor as the bulb burst. In the sudden pitch-darkness, I didn't hesitate—I spun around, dove headfirst through the open service hatch, and grabbed the rungs of the iron ladder just as a silenced pistol spat a tongue of fire into the darkness above.
*Pfft. Pfft.*
Two bullets chewed into the wooden frame inches from my head, showering splinters across my neck.
I scrambled down the rungs as fast as my trembling arms and legs could carry me, the damp, chilled air of the underground wine cellar rushing up to meet me. My boots hit the stone floor with a dull thud, and a small hand immediately grabbed my wrist in the pitch-blackness.
"Mom? Are you okay?" Madison’s voice whispered frantically in my ear, her breath warm against my cheek.
"I'm okay, baby. Keep moving," I gasped, pulling her along behind me through the labyrinth of brick-arched wine racks.
Above us, muffled by thick stone and heavy oak, we heard the grating screech of the bookshelf being dragged back, followed by the heavy thud of boots entering the cellar hatch.
"They're coming," I hissed, scanning the gloom. The old wine cellar was a dead end—or at least, it used to be, until Greg and I spent our first weekend back cleaning out the debris from the collapsed eastern wall.
"This way!" I pulled Madison toward the far corner, where a heavy iron storm door led directly out into the estate’s overgrown apple orchards, far away from the main house and the prying eyes of Julian’s men.
May you like
We hit the iron bar of the emergency exit together, throwing our full weight against it. With a loud, rusted snap, the heavy door swung outward, and the cool, rain-soaked night air hit our faces like a splash of cold water.
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