Chapter 6 - THE GLASS RAIN
The sweet, heavy scent of carbon monoxide was already making my head spin.
Emma was coughing harder, her small hands clutching the worn fabric of Claire’s trench coat. Claire dropped to her knees, wrapping her body around her daughter, trying to shield her face from the invisible poison pouring from the ceiling vents.
“Dad,” Claire gasped, looking up at me with terrified, watering eyes. “We can't breathe.”
“Stay low! Keep her close to the floor where the oxygen settles!” I ordered, my own lungs burning as I sprinted across the steel room.
I grabbed the heavy red fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. It weighed at least twenty pounds. I didn't intend to use it to fight a fire. I intended to use it as a battering ram.
I looked up at the ceiling.
William had sealed the vault and pumped in the gas, assuming the thick steel walls would be our tomb. But he had forgotten one crucial detail about corporate building codes in New York City.
The fire suppression system in a high-security vault wasn't connected to the main building's water lines. It was a localized, high-pressure Halon and water mixture designed to flood the room instantly if the temperature spiked, protecting paper assets from burning.
And if the system triggered, emergency protocol dictated that all electronic locks in the sector must automatically disengage to prevent firefighters from being trapped.
I hoisted the heavy metal cylinder onto my shoulder.
“Cover your eyes!” I yelled to Claire and Emma.
I swung the bottom of the fire extinguisher upward with every ounce of strength I had left in my sixty-six-year-old body.
The heavy metal base smashed directly into the glass-encased emergency sprinkler sensor on the ceiling.
The glass shattered.
For one agonizing second, nothing happened.
Then, alarms shrieked through the vault, deafening and piercing.
Instantly, a massive torrent of freezing, high-pressure water blasted from the ceiling nozzles. It hit us like a physical blow, instantly soaking through our clothes and violently displacing the toxic gas in the air.
Clack.
The heavy magnetic lock on the vault door disengaged, the green emergency exit light flashing above it.
“Go! Go!” I roared, dropping the extinguisher.
I grabbed the black leather ledger off the table, shoved it into the inside pocket of my soaked tuxedo jacket, and hauled Claire and Emma to their feet.
We threw our weight against the heavy steel door, pushing it open, and stumbled out into the concrete corridor.
We collapsed onto the floor, gasping desperately for clean air. The freezing water dripped from my hair, but I had never felt more alive.
“Are you okay?” I asked, coughing violently as I checked Emma.
She nodded, shivering uncontrollably, her wet hair plastered to her cheeks. “I’m cold, Grandpa.”
“I know, sweetheart, I know,” I said, stripping off my soaked tuxedo jacket and wrapping it around her, ensuring the ledger remained safely tucked against her chest.
Before we could catch our breath, the heavy thud of combat boots echoed down the concrete stairwell at the end of the hall.
William’s private security team. They had heard the alarms.
“Up! We have to move!” I whispered urgently, pulling Claire to her feet.
We couldn't use the elevators; they would be shut down due to the fire alarm. We ran toward the secondary emergency stairwell, the heavy metal door painted bright red.
We slipped inside and began climbing. Three flights up to the lobby.
My muscles screamed in protest, but the adrenaline masked the pain. Claire carried Emma for the last flight, her maternal instinct giving her supernatural strength.
When we burst into the grand marble lobby, the scene was pure chaos.
The fire alarms were blaring throughout the entire skyscraper. The two night-shift guards were frantically trying to coordinate with the fire department over their radios, the front doors propped wide open.
“Mr. Anderson!” one of the guards yelled, seeing us emerge soaked and gasping. “There’s a fire in the sub-basement! We need to evacuate you immediately!”
“It’s not a fire! It’s a gas leak orchestrated by William Kensington!” I shouted over the sirens. “He’s trying to kill us! Call the police!”
The guard’s eyes went wide. But before he could grab his radio, the glass revolving doors at the front of the lobby shattered inward.
Four men in tactical gear stormed into the lobby, weapons drawn. William’s mercenaries.
They didn't care about the guards. They leveled their weapons directly at me.
“Get down!” I screamed, shoving Claire and Emma behind the massive marble reception desk.
The guards drew their sidearms, but they were vastly outgunned.
Suddenly, a deafening roar of a massive engine echoed from the street outside.
A black, armored Maybach smashed straight through the remaining glass panels of the lobby entrance, sending shards of glass flying like shrapnel across the marble floor.
The car screeched to a halt right between us and the mercenaries, providing a two-ton bulletproof shield.
The driver’s side door swung open, and Marcus, my head of security, stepped out. He was holding a heavy, military-grade shotgun.
“Get in the car, boss!” Marcus bellowed, racking a shell into the chamber.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed Claire and Emma, hauling them into the backseat of the Maybach.
Marcus fired a warning shot into the ceiling, raining plaster down on the mercenaries, forcing them to dive for cover. He jumped back into the driver’s seat, threw the massive car into reverse, and peeled backward out of the ruined lobby, the tires smoking against the polished marble.
We hit the street going forty miles an hour, Marcus expertly spinning the wheel to merge into the late-night Manhattan traffic.
“Are you hit, sir?” Marcus yelled over his shoulder, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror.
“We’re fine, Marcus. Thank you,” I gasped, leaning back against the leather seat.
“Where to, boss? Police precinct? FBI field office?”
I looked down at the black leather ledger resting in Emma’s lap. The proof was right there. We could end William tonight.
But as I looked at the ledger, my blood ran cold.
A small, folded piece of paper had slipped out from between the pages of the book during the chaos.
I picked it up. It wasn't Eleanor’s handwriting. It was a fresh note, written on heavy, expensive cardstock.
I unfolded it.
Did you really think I wouldn't check the vault in eighteen years, Richard? The ledger is a copy. The original is safe with me. But since you survived the gas, I suppose we’ll have to do a trade.Your daughter and the book... for your nurse.I’m at the hospital. Come alone, or June dies screaming.
I stared at the note, the horror paralyzing my vocal cords.
May you like
William hadn't just trapped us. He had used us as a distraction.
“Marcus,” I said, my voice dropping to a hollow, terrifying whisper. “Turn the car around. We’re going to Mass General Hospital.”
