Chapter 6 - The Broken Loyalty
Nora slipped out of the hidden library compartment, carrying a heavy brass fireplace poker she had retrieved from her father’s desk. The library doors remained locked from the outside, but Arthur had shown her a narrow service passage built behind the bookshelves—a remnant of the mansion’s 1920s architecture that led directly to the upper floor staff quarters.
She moved through the narrow, dusty passage like a shadow, her ears strained for the sound of footfalls. The mansion’s air conditioning hummed softly, carrying the distant, muffled sound of classical music still playing on a loop in the ballroom to keep the wealthy guests from rioting.
She reached the third-floor ventilation grate overlooking the East Wing hallway. Peering through the metal slats, she saw Victor Vance standing outside the attic door, smoking a cigarette in defiance of the mansion's strict non-smoking policy. He looked stressed, his thumb repeatedly flicking the wheel of his silver lighter.
Nora pushed the grate open silently and stepped out into the dark hallway behind him.
"You shouldn't smoke inside, Victor," she said softly. "It ruins the oil paintings."
Victor spun around instantly, his hand dropping to his sidearm, but he paused when he saw Nora standing there without a weapon drawn, holding only the brass poker at her side.
"How the hell did you get out of the library?" Victor growled, looking past her toward the empty hallway. "The lock wasn't tampered with."
"My father built this house, Victor. He knew every secret brick," Nora replied, taking a slow, calm step toward him. "And right now, he's sitting in his safe room watching you on a live feed."
Victor’s scarred face paled slightly. "Arthur is dead. I saw the autopsy report."
"You saw a fake report bought with Celeste's money," Nora countered. "Listen to me, Victor. At midnight—in precisely thirty minutes—a joint task force of federal agents is going to breach the perimeter. They have federal warrants for murder, high treason, and international racketeering. Everyone in this building wearing a security badge is going to spend the rest of their life in a maximum-security prison."
Victor’s grip on his gun loosened slightly. He was a mercenary, not a fanatic. He fought for money, not to die for a billionaire’s insanity.
"Celeste has thermite charges in the basement," Victor said, his voice dropping into a harsh whisper. "If the feds breach the gate, she's going to blow the servers and burn this place to the ground. She doesn't care who dies inside."
"I know," Nora said. "That's why you're going to open that attic door right now, hand me the key to the basement utility room, and walk out the service entrance before the SWAT team hits the gates."
Victor looked at the heavy wooden attic door, then back at Nora. He pulled a heavy ring of brass keys from his belt, unlocked the attic bolt, and tossed the keys into Nora's hands.
"The basement override box is behind the main electrical breaker," Victor said gruffly, turning toward the stairwell. "Tell your old man we're square for the time I served with him in South America."
"Get out of here, Victor," Nora said.
As the security chief vanished down the service stairs, Nora pushed the heavy attic door open.
Inside, sitting in the corner under a single flickering bulb, was little Eli. He looked up, his big brown eyes wide with wonder, his lips halting mid-sentence.
"Ninety-eight... ninety-nine..." he whispered.
May you like
Nora dropped the brass poker, ran across the dusty floorboards, and scooped her little brother into her arms, hugging him so tightly she could feel his little heart beating rapidly against her ribs.
"One hundred," Nora whispered into his hair, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "I told you I'd come."
