Chapter 4
The metallic clang reverberated through the narrow concrete corridor, freezing Marcus in his tracks. He instinctively drew his hand back toward his belt, his muscular frame tightening into a defensive posture. Arthur held up a single, weathered hand, signaling for absolute silence.
“Stay behind me,” Marcus whispered fiercely, his voice dropping to a low rumble as he unclipped his heavy metal flashlight and braced it like a baton.
“There is no need for violence, Marcus,” Arthur murmured, his breathing remaining remarkably calm. “We are simply guests who have stayed past visiting hours.”
The footsteps grew closer—deliberate, heavy, and accompanied by the unmistakable rustle of a tailored wool suit. A slender beam of light cut through the gloom around the corner, illuminating floating dust motes in the stagnant air.
“Who’s down there?” a sharp, authoritative voice demanded. It was Julian Vance, Arthur’s nephew and the current ruthless CEO of the conglomerate.
Marcus let out a subtle gasp, his eyes darting to Arthur. The old man stepped smoothly out from the shadows into the narrow beam of light, his posture upright and unyielding.
Julian stopped dead in his tracks, his polished leather shoes squeaking slightly on the concrete floor. His face flushed with a mixture of utter disbelief and cold fury as he looked at his estranged uncle standing beside a uniformed hotel security guard.
“Uncle Arthur?” Julian sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. “I thought the doctors said your heart wouldn't survive the trip down from your penthouse suite. What on earth are you doing lurking in the sub-basement archives in the middle of the night?”
“I am simply taking a walk, Julian,” Arthur replied evenly, his voice steady. “The air up in the penthouse has become rather suffocating lately. Too many corporate lies poisoning the atmosphere.”
Julian’s eyes shifted from his uncle to Marcus, narrowing with sudden suspicion. He took a calculated step forward, buttoning his expensive suit jacket with practiced arrogance.
“And you,” Julian barked, glaring at Marcus. “You’re one of the night shift guards. What is the meaning of this? Why are you escorting an unauthorized person into a restricted corporate zone?”
Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur stepped smoothly into the space between them, his lapel pin catching the flashlight beam and flashing once with a sharp, defiant green pulse.
“Do not question him, Julian,” Arthur commanded, his tone hardening with sudden authority. “He answers to the board’s true founder, not to its temporary caretakers.”
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Julian laughed coldly, a harsh, dismissive sound that echoed off the damp walls. “The board answers to me now, Uncle. And tomorrow morning, those old apartment buildings behind us are coming down, no matter what ghost stories you’re trying to dig up.”
Julian reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a heavy smartphone, and tapped the screen sharply. “Security dispatch, this is CEO Julian Vance. Send an emergency extraction team to sub-basement archive sector four immediately. We have an intruder.”
