Chapter 4 - Shadows Through the Glass
The muffled thud against the other side of the steel door sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through Julian’s veins. He pressed his palm flat against the cool metal, feeling the faint, erratic vibrations of a struggle happening just inches away from him. The gray smoke curling from beneath the threshold carried the distinct, unmistakable scent of scorched wiring and burning plastic. Something inside the vault room’s internal server rack had short-circuited—or had been deliberately torched.
“David!” Julian shouted, his voice cracking slightly as he slammed his shoulder into the unyielding surface. “David, can you hear me?”
No answer came. Only the low, mechanical hum of the building's emergency ventilation system kicking in overhead, sucking the gray smoke upward into the vents.
Victoria took a hesitant step backward, her sequined gown catching the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway. Her face had gone completely pale, her makeup stark against her colorless skin. “We need to leave,” she whispered, her eyes darting toward the distant stairwell. “If the board security detail realizes we’re tampering with a restricted zone, they’ll lock down the entire building. You don't understand what Arthur has planned for anyone who interferes.”
Arthur remained standing near the elevator, his expression a mask of chilling indifference. He didn't run, nor did he call for security. He simply watched Julian with the detached curiosity of a scientist observing a lab rat trapped in a maze.
“You’re fighting a losing battle, Julian,” Arthur said calmly, his voice carrying clearly down the empty corridor. “The board has already voted. The restructuring documents are digitized and timestamped. Even if you manage to break through that door before the oxygen runs out, you’ll find nothing inside except a signed confession and a brother who chose the wrong side of history.”
Julian ignored him. His eyes scanned the reinforced door frame until he spotted a tiny, smoked-glass observation slit near the top hinge—barely an inch wide, obscured by a tinted security film. He stood up on his toes, gripping the top of the door frame with his fingertips, and pressed his eye against the narrow slit.
The interior of the vault room was illuminated only by the frantic flashing of red and amber server lights. Through the distorted glass, Julian saw the mahogany desk overturned. Papers were strewn everywhere, fluttering in the artificial wind of the ventilation shafts. Near the center of the room, a man lay motionless on the floor, his posture unnaturally twisted.
It wasn't David.
It was Henrik, the Swiss consultant Arthur had brought in just days ago. Henrik’s dark suit was torn at the shoulder, and a heavy glass paperweight lay in a pool of dark, gleaming fluid beside his outstretched hand.
And standing over him, holding a smoking tablet computer with a cracked screen, was David.
Julian’s breath hitched in his throat. David’s usually pristine white shirt was stained with dark smudges, and his hair was wildly disheveled. But it was the expression on his younger brother’s face that made Julian’s blood run cold. David wasn't cowering in fear. He was staring directly up at the tiny observation slit, his eyes wide, hollow, and utterly devoid of recognition.
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Slowly, deliberately, David raised the cracked tablet toward the glass, pressing the screen against the slit so Julian could read the single word flashing in red text.
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