Chapter 8 - The Ghost of the Boardroom
Inside the pitch-black warehouse, panic erupted.
""Is that Marcus?"" Eleanor screamed, stumbling backward against the cold brick wall. ""Julian, tell them we're inside!""
""Shut up!"" Julian hissed, pulling a compact pistol from his waistband with shaking hands. ""Marcus wouldn't shoot his own perimeter guard.""
From the shadows near the rafters, a low, gravelly voice resonated throughout the concrete cavern: ""No. Marcus won't be joining you. He's currently bleeding out on Level B3.""
Victor stepped into the weak beam of a work light. His three-piece suit was soaked in rainwater and motor oil, his bare knuckles split and bruised, but his posture was absolute granite. In his right hand, he held a black tactical shotgun, resting casually against his hip.
""Grandpa!"" Lily's voice cracked from behind the locked office door.
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Victor didn't break eye contact with Julian. ""Drop the stylus, Julian. And drop the gun.""
Julian’s eyes darted wildly between the shadows and Victor. Slowly, his cowardice twisted into cornered desperation. He raised the gun, aiming it directly at Clara's head. ""Take one more step, old man, and the bloodline ends right now!""
