Chapter 6
The sweet, heavy smell of the fire-suppression gas filled the library within seconds, burning the back of Grace’s throat. The golden retriever let out a sharp yelp, burying its wet nose into the fold of Grace’s torn apron.
“Hold your breath!” Julian shouted, coughing as he swept the encrypted hard drive off the desk and shoved it deep into the interior pocket of his wet suit jacket. He grabbed a heavy bronze paperweight and hurled it directly at the stained-glass window overlooking the courtyard.
The glass shattered in a brilliant, star-shaped explosion of color and light, letting in a rush of cold, wet night air that instantly diluted the chemical haze. Julian didn’t hesitate. He hoisted himself up onto the wooden sill, ignoring the jagged shards of glass clinging to the frame, and reached down for Grace.
“Give me the puppy first,” Julian ordered, coughing.
Grace lifted the golden retriever up, pressing the animal into Julian’s outstretched hands. Julian set the puppy carefully onto the wet stone patio just outside the window, then turned back, grabbing Grace by her wrists and hauling her through the narrow opening just as the library’s automatic deadbolts clicked open behind them.
They tumbled out onto the wet grass of the courtyard, the rain instantly washing the chemical residue from their skin and clothes. The golden retriever bounded around them in a joyful, frantic circle, barking happily at the storm before pressing its wet body against Grace’s legs.
Julian scrambled to his feet, pulling Grace up with him. He looked up at the library window. Thick white gas billowed out into the night, mixing with the pouring rain.
“She’s trying to destroy the physical records,” Julian said, his voice laced with grim determination. “She knows we have the drive, but she thinks the paper files are still inside.”
“We need to get off the property, Mr. Vance,” Grace urged, looking toward the distant wrought-iron gates of the estate, half a mile down the winding driveway. “If we reach the main road, we can flag down a trucker or use a payphone.”
“No,” Julian said, shaking his head. “If we run now, her security detail will intercept us before we reach the gate. Eleanor has guards patrolling the perimeter twenty-four hours a day. They take orders only from her.”
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Grace felt a cold knot form in her stomach. “Then what do we do? We can’t stay here, and we can’t run.”
“We go to the old boathouse by the lake,” Julian said, pointing through the veil of rain toward a dense thicket of weeping willows at the edge of the property. “There’s an old copper-line radio transmitter down there—part of my grandfather’s estate. It operates on a military frequency that Eleanor’s corporate firewall can’t jam. We broadcast the ledger files directly to the federal financial crimes database.”
