Chapter 8 - THE BREAK IN THE DARK
The darkness was absolute, save for the momentary flashes of silenced gunfire illuminating the dust in the air. “Derek!” I shouted, my voice disguised by the echoing shots. “We’re here! We’re down!” Derek yelled back from the center of the room. I crept along the wall, using the rusted metal shelving to guide me. The men in suits were wearing night-vision goggles; I could hear the faint, high-pitched whine of the electronics turning on. They had the advantage. I needed to level the field. My hand brushed against a heavy, canvas fire hose mounted on the wall. I felt the thick brass nozzle. In my younger days, I had worked maintenance in my first care facility. I knew the pressure in commercial water lines. I yanked the hose off the spool, dragging it across the floor toward the center aisle. “Find the old woman,” a cold voice ordered in the dark. I held my breath. I could hear boots crunching on broken glass, moving closer to my position. I found the industrial water valve on the pipe running along the floor. I aimed the heavy brass nozzle toward the sound of the approaching footsteps. With all the strength I had left in my seventy-year-old arms, I wrenched the valve open. The water erupted with the force of a battering ram. The high-pressure stream hit the lead hitman squarely in the chest, lifting him off his feet and slamming him brutally into a steel support beam. He dropped like a stone. The water sprayed wildly, shorting out the night-vision goggles of the second man. In the confusion, Arthur’s massive guard lunged from the shadows, tackling the second and third men to the concrete. A brutal, unseen fistfight broke out in the dark. “Mom!” Derek’s hand found my shoulder. He was holding Leo tightly against his chest. “The side door,” I gasped over the roar of the water. “Go!” We scrambled through the wet darkness, slipping on the flooded concrete. Just as we burst through the side door into the rainy alley, the blinding lights of four police cruisers swept across us. Officers swarmed out, weapons drawn, yelling for everyone to get on the ground. Derek dropped to his knees, shielding Leo. I stood beside them, raising my hands, breathing heavily. The police stormed the warehouse. Minutes later, it was over. Marcus’s hitmen were in cuffs. An EMT was checking on Leo, who was crying softly into his father’s shoulder. Derek was kissing the top of the boy’s head, sobbing with pure relief. I walked over to the open warehouse door. Paramedics were wheeling Arthur out on a stretcher. He was pale, but the bullet wound in his shoulder wasn't fatal. He looked up at me as they passed. He opened his good hand. The small brass key to the Zurich deposit box sat in his palm. “Take it,” he rasped. “Bury him, Eleanor.” I took the key. I closed my hand over it. “I will,” I promised. As the ambulance pulled away, a black town car screeched to a halt near the police barricade. Marcus Vance stepped out, flanked by two high-priced defense lawyers. He had bonded out. He looked at the scene—his hitmen arrested, Arthur alive, and my grandson safe. His arrogant smile finally vanished completely. I walked past the police line, the rain soaking my hair, and stopped right in front of him. I held up the brass key. “You thought age made me slow, Marcus,” I said quietly. “You thought I was just an old woman you could humiliate and discard.” Marcus swallowed hard, staring at the key. “But you forgot one thing,” I said, leaning in. “I built that company from nothing. And I will burn you to the ground with it.”
