Chapter 6 - The Breach
The two security guards moved forward in unison, their heavy footsteps deadened by the thick Persian rug beneath their feet. Julian didn't flinch. He backed up against the heavy oak grandfather clock, his hand closing around the brass pendulum weight he had unhooked from inside the open panel. As the first guard lunged, reaching out to grab the collar of his hoodie, Julian swung the heavy brass weight in a wide arc.
It caught the guard squarely in the ribs with a dull, sickening thud, sending him crashing backward into a mahogany side table that shattered under his weight.
The second guard hesitated for a fraction of a second, surprised by the violence of the counterattack, but that brief hesitation was all Julian needed. He vaulted over the splintered wood of the side table, sprinting toward the open French doors that led out to the terrace.
"Stop him!" Arthur shouted, his calm demeanor finally cracking, a sharp edge of panic piercing his voice. "Don't let him leave the grounds!"
Footsteps pounded behind Julian as he burst out into the gray morning light, sprinting across the dew-soaked lawn toward the perimeter wall. The autumn air burned his lungs, but he pushed harder, his mind focused entirely on the heavy silver key resting in his pocket. He knew he couldn't outrun a car or a coordinated search party, but he didn't need to outrun them; he just needed to reach the main highway where public cameras would make it impossible for Arthur’s men to use overt force.
He scrambled over the brick wall, tearing the fabric of his sleeve on a jagged piece of mortar, and dropped heavily onto the gravel shoulder of the country road. Without looking back, he broke into a steady jog down the tree-lined path toward where he had hidden his car.
By the time he reached the battered sedan, his chest was heaving and sweat dripped down his temples. He unlocked the door, threw himself into the driver's seat, and slammed it shut. He shoved the key into the ignition, pumping the gas pedal before turning the key. The engine sputtered, coughed, and finally roared to life.
He threw the car into reverse, tires spitting gravel, before shifting into drive and peeling out onto the asphalt.
In his rearview mirror, two black SUVs pulled out of the Sterling estate’s main gates, their high beams flashing in the morning fog. They were right behind him.
Julian gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, pushing the old car past sixty miles per hour as the winding road straightened out toward the city center. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the silver key and the flash drive Clara had told him about. If Arthur was willing to send security guards after him for breaking into a clock, the data on this flash drive must be nuclear.
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He needed to get to a computer, and he needed to get to the bank before the doors opened at nine o’clock. But as he glanced at the dashboard clock, he noticed something terrifying. The fuel gauge was hovering dangerously close to empty.
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