Chapter 5 - Siege on the High Rise
""Home defense protocol, execute now!"" Julian roared into his wrist communicator as he sprinted down the stairs of the brownstone, practically vaulting into the SUV. ""Marcus, override the penthouse elevators! Cut the external power to the 40th floor!""
Tires shrieked against the wet asphalt as Julian tore through red lights, his heart hammering in his throat. Back at the penthouse, Leo had already responded with instincts Julian had drilled into him. The moment the faint electronic chime of the perimeter sensor had pinged beside his bed, the eleven-year-old had bolted to his sister’s room.
""Lily, wake up. Shoes, now,"" Leo whispered, pulling her out of bed before she could even rub her eyes.
""Leo? Is it Mommy?"" the little girl asked drowsily, frightened by the tension in her brother's grip.
""No, Lily. We have to play the storm game. Remember what Dad said?"" Leo urged, leading her swiftly into the hidden crawl space behind Clara’s old library bookcase. The entrance clicked shut behind them just as the penthouse’s reinforced outer glass shattered with a deafening bang.
Heavy tactical boots crunched against broken glass in the main gallery. Mrs. Gable, coming out of the kitchen with a heavy iron skillet, was instantly grabbed and thrown to the carpet, a gloved hand clamping over her mouth.
""Search the bedrooms,"" a harsh voice with a thick accent barked. ""Gregory said the boy has the thumb drive with the ledger keys. Find them before Sinclair gets here.""
Inside the cramped, soundproof crawl space, Lily began to sob silently, her little hands gripping Leo’s tuxedo jacket. Leo held his hand firmly over her mouth, his own eyes wide with terror as he watched the shadows move through the slats of the ventilation grill.
Footsteps approached the bookcase. A flashlight beam pierced through the wooden seams, sweeping across the dark interior. A mercenary paused, his hand reaching out toward the leather-bound volumes that concealed the latch.
Downstairs, the screech of tires echoed through the subterranean garage as Julian crashed his SUV through the security arm, leaping out with a sidearm drawn from the vehicle's glovebox. He charged toward the private fire stairwell, taking four steps at a time, his breath burning like acid in his lungs.
On the 40th floor, the mercenary’s fingers brushed the disguised trigger on the third bookshelf. The latch clicked open with an audible snap.
The bookcase swung outward, exposing the two trembling children crouched in the dark.
May you like
""Well, well,"" the gunman sneered, leveling his weapon. ""Found the little heirs.""
Before the man could take a step forward, the heavy steel door of the penthouse stairwell burst inward, and a deafening shot tore through the lavish gallery.
