Chapter 3 - Fractured Alliances
"Step back, Vance, or none of us walk out of this skybox alive," Sterling sneered, holding a compact black remote with a flashing crimson diode. "You thought you had total control of this building? My men wired the main load-bearing pillars three days ago during the gala setup."
Julian’s eyes narrowed into slits. His pulse remained dangerously calm. He had faced warlords and federal syndicates; an aging politician with delusions of leverage did not frighten him.
"You won't press it, Thomas," Julian said, taking a deliberate step forward. "You love power too much to die in a pile of rubble over a runaway maid."
"Try me," the Senator hissed, backing toward the service corridor. "Victoria, move! Now!"
Victoria scrambled away, casting a venomous glare at Clara before disappearing behind her father's guards. Julian raised a single finger, signaling his snipers to hold their fire. A firefight in a pressurized glass penthouse with explosives in play was a reckless gamble.
"Marcus," Julian ordered through his comm-piece without breaking his gaze. "Lock down the perimeter. Call the bomb squad to sub-levels one and two. If a single Sterling vehicle leaves the underground garage, ram it."
"Copy that, boss," his lieutenant replied.
Julian turned back to where Clara stood frozen near the elevator doors. Her face was paper-white, her breath coming in shallow gasps. As the elevator doors slid shut behind them, sealing them into the soundproof private wing, Clara’s knees buckled.
Julian caught her before she hit the marble floor. Lifting her effortlessly into his arms, he carried her toward the plush leather sofa in his study. Her skin was burning hot, radiating fever from the infected burns.
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"Stay with me, Clara," he commanded softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her brow.
Her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze wild with panic as she grabbed his lapel. "You don't understand... the bombs... they aren't on the pillars, Julian. They're planted inside your bedroom vault."
