Chapter 10 - The Heist of the Penthouse
At 4:00 AM, thick fog rolled in from the harbor, cloaking the glass towers of the financial district. Dressed in nondescript courier uniforms, Clara and Christian entered the underground maintenance tunnel beneath the Whitfield Tower. The pain in Christian’s ribs was blinding, but adrenaline masked the agony.
Clara bypassed the secondary maintenance panel using the master keycard she had acquired during her years working the estate's staff shifts. ""The freight elevator is off-grid until six,"" she whispered, punching the code.
The elevator climbed silently toward the sixty-fourth floor. Christian leaned against the wall, his face beaded with cold sweat. He reached out and caught Clara's hand, his fingers intertwining with hers.
""If this goes wrong,"" Christian murmured, his eyes locking onto hers with raw intensity, ""run. Don't look back.""
""We finish this together,"" Clara replied firmly, refusing to let go.
The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open into the dim, marble-clad foyer of the penthouse. The air was still, smelling of stale cologne and polished leather. Christian led the way into his late father’s private study, moving behind the massive mahogany desk. He pressed his palm against the hidden biometric scanner concealed behind an oil portrait.
A soft click echoed in the silence. A wall panel swung back, revealing the heavy steel safe.
Christian spun the combination dial smoothly: 0-9-1-4—the date of his mother's death. The heavy door unlatched. Inside lay a sleek black flash drive and a sealed legal envelope.
May you like
Christian reached for the drive, but a sudden click of a handgun hammer shattered the quiet behind them.
""I wondered when you'd come for the family jewels, little brother.""
