Chapter 10 - The Vault Opens
Caleb didn't take his eyes off Genevieve as he backed toward the exit corridor. “Move, Genevieve. Walk in front of us. If you try to run, if you reach for anything, I pull the trigger.” Genevieve’s teeth ground together in impotent fury, but seeing the unwavering resolve in the boy’s eyes, she slowly raised her hands and walked toward the corridor.
As they moved past the injured Arthur, who was groaning on the floor, clutching his broken shoulder, Clara stopped for a single, fleeting second. She looked down at the man who had vowed to love and protect her at the altar, the man who had poured the concrete for her living grave. “Eighteen months, Arthur,” Clara whispered, her voice colder than the grave he had built for her. “I spent eighteen months praying that God would show you mercy. But you aren't human. You’re a parasite.”
“Clara... please,” Arthur choked out, reaching a trembling hand toward her hem. “Help me up... we can split the trust... we can fix this...”
“Fix it in hell,” Clara said. She kicked his reaching hand away and ushered Caleb and Chloe up the narrow emergency stairwell.
Behind them, thick black smoke began billowing from the electrical junction boxes, choking the basement corridor. The manor’s automated fire suppression system kicked in, but instead of water, it began releasing industrial dry chemical foam, sealing the lower vents and suffocating the oxygen in the cellar. Arthur screamed in terror as he dragged his injured body toward the exit stairs, coughing violently in the blinding, toxic haze.
May you like
Bursting through the heavy bulkhead door at the top of the stairs, Caleb, Clara, and Chloe stumbled into the manor’s grand conservatory. Rain pounded mercilessly against the towering glass dome overhead, lightning illuminating the shattered remnants of the very room where Clara had supposedly died eighteen months ago. The air was cool and fresh, but the nightmare was far from over.
Standing in the center of the conservatory, blocking the double glass doors to the outside driveway, stood Harlan—Genevieve’s private chauffeur and hired enforcer—holding a heavy tire iron, his cold eyes taking in the bloodied family.
