Chapter 8
The deadbolt mechanism inside the oak door groaned loudly under the invisible force of the sonic cutter, metal shavings drifting downward like metallic snow onto the plush carpet. Julian didn't hesitate. He abandoned the wall safe, grabbed a heavy brass candelabra from the mantelpiece, and sprinted toward the far corner of the bedroom.
"This way! Move!" Julian commanded in a harsh whisper.
Clara scooped Lily into her arms once more, her white lace wedding gown rustling frantically as she chased Julian across the sprawling suite. Behind them, with a sharp crack of splintering timber, the deadbolt finally gave way, and the heavy oak door swung inward, crashing against the interior wall. Heavy footsteps rushed across the entryway, accompanied by the cold, clipped voice of Marcus Vance.
"Search the perimeter. They have nowhere else to run," Vance ordered from the doorway.
Julian reached a narrow, unassuming wooden door disguised as part of the mahogany wall-panelling near the walk-in closet—an original architectural feature of the historic hotel designed for domestic staff during the roaring twenties. He shoved his shoulder against the latch. It resisted for a fraction of a second before giving way with a loud pop, revealing a steep, unlit flight of concrete stairs leading downward into darkness.
"In! Go!" Julian urged, pushing Clara and Lily through the narrow aperture.
Clara tumbled down the first three steps, maintaining her grip on Lily to protect the child from injury. Julian slipped through immediately after them, slamming the heavy wooden panel shut behind him just as heavy boots pounded against the floorboards of the bedroom suite outside. He jammed a heavy iron wedge beneath the door’s lower gap, locking it securely from the inside.
Pitch blackness enveloped them, save for the thin sliver of amber light filtering through the warped edges of the old service door above. The air down here was cool, smelling faintly of dust, old concrete, and damp masonry.
"Are you okay?" Julian whispered urgently, reaching out in the dark until his hand brushed against Clara’s shoulder.
"I'm fine," Clara panted, her chest heaving as she adjusted her grip on Lily. "And Lily?"
"I'm okay, mister Julian," the little girl's small voice replied out of the darkness, steady and surprisingly calm. "It’s just very dark."
Julian reached into his tuxedo jacket pocket, pulling out a sleek modern smartphone. He tapped the screen, turning on the flashlight feature. The bright LED beam cut through the gloom, illuminating narrow concrete walls, exposed industrial pipes running along the ceiling, and a steep downward staircase that spiraled into the basement levels of the hotel.
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"Stay close to me," Julian instructed, holding the light ahead. "These stairs lead down to the old laundry chutes and the loading dock alley. Vance’s men won't expect us to descend right back toward the ground floor; they’ll assume we’re trying to reach the roof."
As they began their careful descent down the winding concrete steps, the muffled sound of shouting could be heard through the ceiling above them. Heavy impacts struck the hidden service door, testing the strength of Julian’s iron wedge. The structural integrity of their hiding place was temporary at best; they had perhaps two minutes before the door was smashed to splinters.
