Chapter 7 - The Parking Garage Ambush
The emergency stairwell door slammed open as Graham, Detective Miller, and a bruised, limping Clara rushed down into the subterranean concrete parking garage of the Grandview Hotel. The air down here was thick with the acrid smell of burnt rubber, stale exhaust fumes, and cordite. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long, jittery shadows across rows of parked luxury vehicles.
Parked near the far corner was Graham’s black sedan, its driver-side window completely shattered into a million tiny diamond-like cubes scattered across the concrete. A wisp of grey smoke curled lazily from the smoking muzzle hole punched directly through the driver's door panel.
"Stay behind me," Detective Miller ordered, unholstering his firearm once more and moving in a tactical crouch toward the vehicle. He swept the interior with a practiced eye, checking the front and back seats before letting out a sharp breath. "Clear. But look at this."
Graham rushed past Miller, peering into the shattered window. Lying across the front passenger seat was a heavy leather briefcase—the exact briefcase Arthur Pendelton carried to every corporate board meeting. Propped against it was a printed manifest of Vance Enterprises' international accounts, every single line highlighted in bright neon yellow, culminating in a final transfer order signed with a forged copy of Graham’s signature dated just this morning.
"He was here," Graham growled, slamming his fist against the metal frame of the car. "Arthur was right here inside the hotel while we were upstairs trying to figure out what happened to Julian."
Clara limped up behind them, wrapping her arms around her shivering body as she stared at the ruined car. "He’s not just trying to frame Julian, Graham. He’s trying to clear out every single liquid asset the company owns before the market opens on Monday morning. If those transfers go through, Vance Enterprises will be completely bankrupt by noon."
Miller knelt beside the car door, using the tip of a pen to lift a small, square object stuck to the underside of the vehicle's chassis. "GPS tracker," Miller muttered, holding it up so they could see the tiny blinking red LED light. "He’s not running away, Mr. Vance. He’s tracking your movements. Which means he knows you're down here right now."
A sudden screech of tires echoed from the upper ramp of the parking garage, followed by the blinding glare of high-beam headlights sweeping down the concrete spiral. A heavy silver SUV roared around the corner, its engine roaring like a wounded beast as it sped directly toward them at terrifying speed.
"Look out!" Miller shouted, shoving Graham and Clara hard to the side just as the SUV slammed into the rear bumper of Graham's sedan with a sickening crunch of grinding metal.
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The impact sent Graham's car spinning across the concrete, pinning the passenger door against a thick concrete pillar. From behind the tinted windshield of the rogue SUV, a silhouette raised a heavy-caliber firearm, aiming directly through the gap in the pillars toward where Graham lay sprawled on the floor.
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