Chapter 10 - The Hidden Vault
Marcus paused halfway across the concrete floor, his smug smile faltering for a fraction of a second as he noticed the absolute lack of fear in Julian’s posture. The red LED light on the tablet in Marcus’s hand suddenly flickered, stuttered, and died, the screen going completely black.
"What did you do?" Marcus demanded, tapping the glass frantically.
"My father knew you were skimming from the offshore accounts three years ago, Marcus," Julian said, his voice ringing clearly through the cavernous carriage house. He stepped closer, the heavy tire iron gripped tightly in his right hand. "He didn't fire you because he wanted you to walk right into this exact trap. The estate gates aren't locked by remote. They operate on a manual seismic sensor tied directly to the main vault beneath this very floor."
Marcus’s face drained of color. He took an involuntary half-step backward, looking down at the concrete beneath his designer shoes. "That's impossible. The blueprints show nothing beneath the carriage house except drainage pipes."
"My grandfather built this estate during Prohibition," Julian stated coldly. He raised his left hand and slammed his heel down hard onto a raised iron grating set into the floor near the workbench.
With a loud, metallic screech and a heavy pneumatic hiss, the floorboards beneath the security guards split apart. A section of the concrete foundation slid sideways, revealing a deep, dark stairwell plunging downward into the earth, illuminated by the faint, automatic glow of emergency incandescent bulbs lining the stone walls.
Before the two guards could react to the shifting floor, the air pressure shift caused by the opening vault triggered a secondary mechanism across the property. From the main courtyard outside, the heavy iron security gates groaned loudly and swung wide open, letting the cool night wind sweep into the grounds.
"The gates!" one of the guards yelled, looking back toward the open exit.
"Forget the gates! Grab them!" Marcus shrieked, panic finally piercing his composed exterior as he lunged forward, pointing a small, concealed pistol from his coat pocket directly at Julian’s chest.
Clara let out a sharp cry from the workbench, curling inward as the cold barrel of the gun caught the moonlight.
Julian didn't hesitate. Instead of retreating, he launched forward with explosive force, swinging the heavy tire iron in a wide arc that knocked the pistol directly out of Marcus’s hand, sending it clattering into the dark depths of the open vault stairwell below.
The security guards rushed to intercept, but Julian met the first guard with a brutal, direct right hook to the jaw, sending the man crashing into a stack of spare tires. The second guard lunged, tackling Julian to the concrete floor in a chaotic scramble of limbs and heavy breathing.
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As they rolled across the floor, Clara pushed herself up from the workbench, her hands shaking violently as she reached toward the ignition key of the vintage Packard, turning it hard to the right as the engine roared to a deafening, life-saving crescendo.
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