Chapter 19 - The Floor Gives Way
The ancient timbers of the Elmwood dining room floor, already rotted through decades of neglect and water damage, groaned violently. A shower of plaster and splintered oak collapsed directly onto the staircase.
A massive beam slammed down onto the second step, instantly crushing one of Vance’s mercenaries beneath hundreds of pounds of timber. Vance was thrown violently against the stone wall, the steel briefcase flying from his grip and tumbling back down the stairs, landing with a loud clatter at Graham’s feet.
"Move!" Graham roared.
He didn't hesitate. In the chaos of dust, blinding light, and falling debris, Graham tackled Marcus with all his weight. The gunshot went off, but the bullet tore harmlessly into the damp stone ceiling as both men crashed into the empty wine racks, shattering old bottles into thousands of flying shards.
I lunged forward, snatching the heavy briefcase by the handle.
Above us, through the gaping hole in the collapsed floor, a figure dropped down into the dust.
It was Eleanor.
Her trench coat was torn, her gray hair covered in white plaster dust, but her eyes were wild with a ferocious, unhinged fury. In her hands, she wielded a heavy iron crowbar she had pried from the demolition markers outside.
"Nobody touches my daughter!" Eleanor screamed like a banshee, bringing the crowbar down across the shoulder of the second mercenary who was struggling to clear the debris off Vance.
The man collapsed with a howl of pain.
Vance scrambled to his feet on the shattered stairs, coughing through the thick cloud of dust, his face bleeding from a deep gash along his forehead. He drew his backup pistol, aiming it directly at Eleanor.
"Eleanor, get down!" I screamed.
*BANG.*
The gunshot cracked in the enclosed cellar. Eleanor stumbled backward, gasping, her hand flying to her side. But before Vance could fire a second shot, Graham emerged from the shadows of the wine racks, holding Marcus’s dropped firearm.
Graham fired twice into the wall inches from Vance’s head. The concussive blast drove Vance backward, sending his weapon clattering into the rubble as he scrambled up the remaining broken steps toward the ground floor, abandoning his men and fleeing into the darkness.
Marcus lay unconscious among the broken glass and splintered oak.
Graham rushed to my side, his hands checking me frantically. "Hannah! Are you hurt? Are you hit?"
"I'm fine! Eleanor! Look at Eleanor!"
We rushed to where my mother had fallen against the vault door. She was clutching her left ribs, dark red blood seeping between her fingers. Her breathing was shallow, her face pale as a ghost, but she was looking at me—really looking at me—for the first time in my life.
"Hannah..." she whispered, coughing weakly. "The case... did you get the case?"
"I have it, Mom," I said, tears blurring my vision as I knelt in the dirt beside her, pressing my jacket against her wound. "Graham, call 911! Call an ambulance!"
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"No... no time," Eleanor rasped, her trembling, blood-stained fingers clutching my wrist with surprising strength. "Vance isn't running to the border... he’s going to the safe house. He knew where Lily was the entire time. Marcus gave him the address two hours ago."
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