Chapter 5 - Shadows at the Door
A sharp, metallic knock echoed through the quiet hallway outside the private lounge, shattering the fragile bubble of safety they had constructed. Both of them froze, breath catching in their throats. He immediately stood up, signaling Clara to stay low behind the heavy leather couch, while his hand slid instinctively toward his jacket where a concealed piece rested. He moved with silent, predatory grace toward the heavy oak door, peering through the small brass peephole. In the dim corridor stood two men in tailored black suits, their earpieces glowing with a faint blue light—Dean’s cleaning crew. They weren't police; they were corporate fixers trained to erase loose ends quietly and permanently. ""Open up, sir. Management needs a word,"" a muffled voice called out from the other side, polite on the surface but dripping with underlying menace. He stepped back from the door, his mind racing through escape routes. The lounge only had one entryway, and the large glass window led out to a sheer fifty-foot drop into the rain-slicked alleyway below. He looked back at Clara, whose eyes were wide with sheer terror as she clutched the manila envelope to her chest like a lifeline. There was no time for hesitation. With a swift motion, he grabbed a heavy brass floor lamp, positioning himself right beside the door frame. ""You have five seconds to open the door, or we kick it in,"" the voice warned, the patience of the fixers wearing thin. He took a deep breath, planted his feet, and waited for the wood to splinter, knowing that the moment that door opened, there was no turning back.
