Chapter 6 - The Blackout
The fluorescent lights flickered once, hummed a dying note, and plunged the precinct basement into total, suffocating darkness. In the sudden silence, the distant rumble of thunder rolled across the city skyline, shaking the reinforced concrete walls of the holding cells. Richard didn't move an inch in his chair, his silhouette barely visible against the grey metal table. Across from him, Detective Vance’s chair scraped loudly against the linoleum floor as he reached for his service weapon.
Stay where you are, Sterling, Vance ordered, his voice echoing sharply in the confined space.
I’m not going anywhere, detective, Richard replied, his tone unnervingly calm, carrying a chilling undercurrent of amusement. You really think a blackout is an accident in a municipal building with triple-redundant generators? My security protocol didn't end at the estate gates, Vance. I built this city’s private municipal grid twenty years ago. I hold the override codes.
Before Vance could draw his flashlight, the heavy steel door of the interrogation room slammed shut with a metallic crash that rattled the doorframe. The automated electronic locks engaged with a heavy, mechanical thud—the sound of a high-security vault sealing from the outside.
Hey! Open this door! Vance shouted, slamming his palm against the reinforced metal while flicking on the tactical flashlight attached to his belt.
The beam cut through the dim room, illuminating an empty chair where Richard Sterling had been sitting just seconds before. The handcuffs lay neatly folded on the metal table, unlocked, resting atop a small, glowing flash drive that had not been there during the interrogation.
Vance cursed loudly, running to the door and checking the digital keypad, which now glowed a steady, baleful crimson. The screen displayed a single word in bold white text: OVERRIDDEN.
Meanwhile, back at the Sterling estate, the emergency floodlights cut through the torrential rain that had begun to lash against the grand glass conservatory. Clara stood alone in the center of the mosaic-tiled floor, her legs trembling but holding her upright for the first time without the blue wheelchair, which sat empty several yards away. The pain in her muscles had subsided, replaced by a strange, humming numbness that seemed to pulse in time with the flickering estate lights.
The heavy glass door of the conservatory slid open with a hiss, admitting a gust of wind and the wet, barefoot figure of the boy. He didn't carry the rusted pendant anymore; instead, he held a heavy leather-bound ledger bearing the embossed crest of Sterling Global Industries on its cover.
You shouldn't have come back here, Clara said, her voice steady, her eyes reflecting the lightning flashing outside. My father’s men are coming.
May you like
They aren't coming, the boy said, stepping closer and holding out the ledger. Your father’s men work for me now. And your father isn't in that precinct anymore. He’s already inside the house, waiting for us in the underground vault.
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