false brick wall.
But my tactical team carried thermite.
It took exactly four minutes to burn through the deadbolts. The steel door groaned and gave way, revealing a concrete staircase plunging deep into the earth. The air that drifted up was stale, smelling of antiseptic and damp stone.
“Stay behind us, Ms. Vale,” the lead operative instructed, raising his rifle.
“I lead,” I replied, pulling a heavy flashlight from my coat. My heart pounded against my ribs like a caged bird, but my mind was terrifyingly clear.
We descended. The tunnel widened into a subterranean facility that looked ripped from a dystopian nightmare. Sterile white tiles, humming servers, and rows of medical equipment sat beneath the Harrington estate. This was where the millions had gone. This was Vivian’s private Frankenstein laboratory.
At the far end of the corridor, behind a wall of reinforced glass, was a massive, circular steel door.
The biometric lock. The Vault.
Standing in front of it was Vivian. In one hand, she held a scalpel. Her other hand was twisted tightly into the hair of a woman kneeling on the floor.
My breath caught in my throat.
Celeste.
She was rail-thin, her skin the color of old parchment. She wore a simple white medical gown that hung off her fragile frame. Her eyes, identical to my own, were hollowed out by years of captivity and chemical harvesting. Yet, when she looked up and saw me standing in the corridor, a spark of fierce, defiant life flared in her gaze.
“Evie,” she mouthed.
“Back away!” Vivian screamed, pressing the scalpel against Celeste’s throat. A thin line of crimson bloomed against the pale skin. “I’ll kill her! I swear to God, Evelyn, I will bleed her out right here!”
My tactical team raised their weapons, red dots dancing
