Chapter 7 - THE BLUEPRINT BARRICADE
The VIP elevator shot upward, your stomach dropping with the sheer speed of the ascent. The digital numbers above the door flashed in rapid succession: 40, 50, 60.
With every floor we passed, the air seemed to grow thinner. My father stood beside me, his large hand resting on my shoulder in a silent, grounding grip. Behind us, three of his elite security contractors checked the magazines of their concealed weapons with terrifying, professional calm.
“Naomi,” Charles said softly, his voice cutting through the mechanical hum of the elevator. “When those doors open, you stay behind me. Arthur Sterling is a desperate man facing the rest of his life in prison. He has nothing left to lose.”
“He has my children,” I replied, my eyes fixed firmly on the rising numbers. “I’m not hiding behind anyone.”
Ding.
The elevator slowed, coming to a smooth halt at the 68th floor. The top three floors of the hotel were entirely dedicated to the upcoming Harrison ultra-luxury penthouses.
The doors slid open with a soft mechanical hiss.
The air immediately smelled of sawdust, wet concrete, and exposed drywall. The hallway was stripped to its metal studs. Heavy plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling, rustling slightly in the draft from the unfinished elevator shafts.
Just as I had predicted, the permanent lighting was dead. Instead, harsh, blindingly bright halogen work lamps were set up on tripods down the corridor, casting long, distorted shadows against the bare concrete walls.
I stepped out of the elevator. My bare feet—I had kicked off my heels somewhere around the 50th floor—made no sound on the dusty concrete.
I closed my eyes and listened.
Through the thick, dusty silence, I heard it. A small, rhythmic hiccuping sound. The sound of a child trying very hard not to cry.
“Maya,” I breathed.
I moved toward the sound, ignoring my father’s hissed command to wait for the security team. I pushed through the heavy plastic sheeting hanging in the doorway of what would eventually be the master suite.
The room was massive, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the glittering, nighttime expanse of the city.
In the center of the room, sitting on a stack of drywall, were my twins.
Leo had his arm wrapped fiercely around his sister. They were both shivering in their pajamas, having been stripped of the velvet coats I made them. Maya’s face was buried in Leo’s shoulder, hiccuping softly.
And standing ten feet away from them, pacing aggressively in a tailored suit that was now covered in drywall dust, was Arthur Sterling.
The man who had taught me how to ride a bike. The man who had carved the turkey at our Thanksgiving dinners for a decade.
He held a silver lighter in his right hand, nervously clicking the top open and shut. In his left hand, he held a black, heavy handgun, pointed loosely toward the floor.
“Mommy!” Leo screamed, his eyes locking onto me. He tried to jump off the drywall stack, but Arthur whipped the gun up, pointing it directly at my six-year-old son’s chest.
“Sit down!” Arthur roared, his face twisted in absolute panic.
Leo froze, terrified, and shrank back against his sister.
“Don’t you dare point that at him, Arthur,” I said, my voice ringing out with a cold, lethal authority that even surprised me. I stepped fully into the room, placing myself directly between the barrel of his gun and my children.
Arthur’s eyes widened as he saw me. Then, Charles and the security team pushed through the plastic sheeting behind me, their own weapons raised and leveled at the CFO’s head.
“Put the gun down, Arthur,” Charles ordered, his voice echoing like thunder in the unfinished room. “It’s over. You’re surrounded. The APEX press conference isn't happening. Your short stocks are worthless.”
Arthur let out a ragged, hysterical laugh. He backed away toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, keeping the gun trained on me.
“You think I care about the stocks anymore, Charles?” Arthur spat, the refined, calculating corporate officer entirely gone, replaced by a cornered animal. “I’m dead either way! The people I owe money to don't take apologies. If I go to prison, they’ll kill me before my first meal. My only way out is a private jet and enough cash to disappear.”
“I can give you that,” Charles lied smoothly, lowering his hands in a placating gesture. “Let the children go, Naomi takes them down to the lobby, and you and I can walk out of here together. I’ll have my jet fueled in ten minutes.”
“Don't insult my intelligence!” Arthur screamed, clicking his lighter open again. A small, orange flame illuminated his sweaty face. “You’d have me shot the second I handed over the kids! I know you, Charles! I’ve watched you destroy men for twenty years!”
Arthur looked at me, his eyes wide and manic. “It wasn't supposed to be like this, Naomi. I swear. I just needed the money from the house. But Trevor… your idiot husband got greedy. He wanted more. He wanted to fund Brittany’s startup so they could run away together. The debts piled up. The loan sharks came calling.”
“I don't care about Trevor,” I said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “I don't care about Brittany. I don't care about the money. Just let my babies go, Uncle Artie.”
I purposely used the name I had called him as a child.
Arthur flinched. For a fraction of a second, the gun wavered. A look of profound guilt flashed across his face. He looked at Leo and Maya, trembling on the drywall.
In that single second of hesitation, I saw an opening.
But not for the security team to shoot. If they fired, Arthur’s finger might twitch on the trigger. I couldn't risk a stray bullet near my children.
I needed a distraction. Something massive.
My eyes darted around the unfinished room. Stacked against the far wall, right next to the halogen work lamp Arthur was standing beside, were dozens of large, thick, blue cardboard tubes.
Blueprints. Highly flammable architectural blueprints for the entire hotel renovation.
And Arthur was holding an open lighter.
I didn't think. I moved.
I grabbed a heavy, metal crowbar resting on a sawhorse next to me. I didn't swing it at Arthur. I swung it with all my might at the tripod holding the massive, blinding halogen work lamp.
The metal shattered the tripod leg. The heavy lamp tipped over, crashing directly into the stack of blueprint tubes. The halogen bulb exploded on impact, sending a shower of sparks directly into the dry, dusty cardboard.
Instantly, the blueprints caught fire.
A wall of bright orange flame shot up toward the ceiling, blinding everyone in the room.
Arthur screamed, throwing his arms up to shield his face from the sudden, intense heat, dropping the lighter and stumbling backward.
“Get them!” I screamed, diving through the smoke and heat.
May you like
I reached the drywall stack, wrapping my arms around Leo and Maya, pulling them fiercely against my chest. I rolled backward, shielding their bodies with my own as we hit the dusty concrete floor.
Two loud, deafening gunshots rang out over our heads.
