Chapter 8
Inside the basement vault, Julian refused to surrender to despair. The air was growing thinner, and the cold concrete floor seemed to sap the warmth right out of his body. He knew that waiting for help was a losing battle; Victoria and Arthur had likely cut the communication lines to the outside world, meaning no automated distress signal would ever reach emergency services.
He shined his flashlight beam across the metal shelving units, searching for anything heavy enough to leverage against the massive steel door. Most of the boxes were bolted securely into the masonry, but near the back corner sat an old wooden crate filled with discarded architectural blueprints and heavy iron tools from the original construction of the mansion.
Julian rushed over, tearing off the lid of the crate. Inside lay a heavy iron crowbar, pitted with rust but structurally solid. He grabbed it with both hands, feeling the cold metal bite into his palms, and rushed back to the vault entrance.
Wudging the flattened end of the crowbar into the narrow gap between the steel door and its reinforced frame, Julian braced his boots against the concrete wall. He threw his entire weight against the iron bar, his muscles straining to their absolute limit. The metal groaned under the pressure, a high-pitched screech echoing through the confined space as the internal locking pins began to bend.
“Come on,” Julian grunted through clenched teeth, sweat pouring down his forehead.
With a final, explosive surge of adrenaline, he forced the crowbar downward. The internal locking mechanism sheared with a loud, cracking snap. The heavy steel door popped open an inch, letting in a draft of fresh air from the basement corridor.
Julian dropped the crowbar, threw his shoulder against the door, and shoved it wide open. He stumbled out into the basement, breathing heavily, his chest heaving as his lungs filled with cooler air. Without wasting a single second, he bolted toward the stone staircase, taking the steps two at a time as he ascended back toward the main house.
He burst through the basement door into the ground-floor corridor, his eyes wild and his trench coat fluttering behind him. The house was deathly still, but the faint sound of voices drifted down from the grand foyer. Recognizing Arthur’s rasped tone immediately, Julian felt a surge of cold fury unlike anything he had ever experienced.
May you like
He drew a deep breath, quieted his footsteps, and crept along the wainscoted hallway toward the foyer, keeping to the shadows where the crystal chandelier’s light could not betray his position.
There, standing just a few feet from his mother’s wheelchair, was Arthur, holding a set of leather-bound legal documents in one hand and pointing a sleek, modern pen toward the signature line with the other. Martha sat rigidly in her chair, her eyes locked defiantly on Arthur’s face, refusing to yield an inch.
