Chapter 8 - The Countdown Begins
The tiny, blinking red light on the hidden flash drive seemed to mock Julian as it pulsed in the dim emergency lighting of the ruined ballroom. Outside the shattered floor-to-ceiling windows, the distant sound of helicopter blades began to vibrate through the concrete foundation, growing louder and more frantic with every passing second.
Julian slipped the micro-drive back into the crest, securing the necklace tightly inside his tuxedo pocket. He turned his burning gaze back to Richard, who was slowly bleeding onto the altar steps.
"Your men aren't coming to save you, Richard," Julian said coldly. "They're here to clean house. And you're the first loose end."
Director Richard Vance’s arrogant smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he forced it back onto his pale face. "You think you’re so smart, Julian. But you don't even know what's on that drive. It doesn't just hold money; it holds the names of every federal judge, senator, and police chief on our payroll. If you release it, the entire city falls."
"Let it burn," a voice echoed from the shadows.
Elena stepped back into the dim illumination, her face smeared with soot, holding a heavy tactical assault rifle she must have stripped from one of the unconscious intruders. Her eyes were fixed entirely on Richard, filled with a cold, unforgiving hatred that years of exile had only sharpened.
Clara sobbed uncontrollably from the floor, rocking back and forth in her ruined wedding dress. "Please... just let me go. I have nothing to do with their war. I was just trying to survive."
Julian looked down at Clara, feeling a strange mixture of pity and revulsion. "You chose your side when you lied to me at the altar, Clara. Stay down."
Suddenly, the red blinking light on the flash drive in Julian’s pocket shifted to a rapid, high-pitched beep. The frequency was unmistakable—a proximity alarm.
Arthur Pendelton rushed toward the service exit, slamming his shoulder against the heavy metal door, but it wouldn't budge. "It's sealed! Someone locked us in from the outside!"
Through the blown-out windows, the blinding spotlight of a descending helicopter swept across the ballroom, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the ruined air and casting long, grotesque shadows against the gold chairs.
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"They're not waiting for us to come out," Elena whispered, raising her rifle toward the ceiling. "They're going to level the entire floor."
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