Chapter 7
“How could they find us?” Clara hissed, peering cautiously through the slats of the window blinds down into the courtyard.
Below, two matte-black SUVs bearing government plates had blocked the driveway, their high-beam headlights illuminating the front steps. Four figures in dark tactical gear stepped out of the lead vehicle, moving with the synchronized precision of military operatives. They weren’t local police; they were Julian’s personal security detail, operating off-book.
“Marcus,” Elena realized with a sinking feeling. “When we connected to the offshore server earlier, Julian’s automated firewall must have traced the ping to the router at the warehouse, and from there to the vehicle’s telemetry logs. They didn’t track us here; they calculated our trajectory.”
“There’s no time to use the front exit,” Clara said, her voice laced with urgent panic. She grabbed Elena by the arm, pulling her away from the window. “We need to use the service stairs at the back of the east wing. It leads down to the old wine cellar and out through the drainage tunnel.”
“Move!” Elena didn’t hesitate. They sprinted down the dimly lit hallway, the heavy manila folder clutched tightly in her grip and the titanium drives secure in Clara’s pocket.
Behind them, the distinct sound of heavy boots kicking open the front door echoed through the hollow corridors of the manor. Shouts rang out downstairs—sharp, disciplined military commands demanding a sweep of the second floor.
The sisters reached the narrow wooden service stairs just as flashlight beams began to dance across the far end of the hallway. They plunged downward into the pitch-black stairwell, their footsteps muffled by the thick dust accumulated over decades. Clara led the way, her familiarity with the estate’s hidden architecture acting as their only lifeline.
They burst into the damp, stone-vaulted wine cellar, the air thick with the scent of aged oak and vinegar. Clara rushed toward the far corner, shoving aside a heavy rack of empty wine crates to reveal a low, iron-grated door set into the foundation wall.
“The drainage tunnel,” Clara panted, fumbling with the rusted padlock. “Julian told me it was sealed years ago, but I checked the maintenance logs last winter.”
Footsteps thundered onto the landing above them. A harsh voice echoed down the stairwell: “We know you’re down there! Stand down or we breach!”
May you like
“Clara, hurry!” Elena urged, keeping her eyes fixed on the stairwell entrance.
With a sharp snap, the rusted latch gave way under Clara’s weight. She pulled the iron door open, revealing a dark, concrete tunnel stretching into the underground gloom. Without a second thought, both women scrambled through the opening just as a flashlight beam cut across the wine cellar floor, illuminating the space they had occupied only seconds before.
