Chapter 75 - Rupture in the Sub-Level
A sound like an exploding jet engine shattered the silence of the subterranean vault.
A concussive shockwave of pressurized white vapor erupted from the overhead nozzles directly above the transformer banks. Within a split second, an impenetrable wall of dense, freezing white gas engulfed the lower floor, obliterating all visibility.
"Contact! Ambush!" Kovacs's voice roared through the fog, instantly muffled by the deafening roar of escaping gas.
Gunfire erupted—the sharp, deafening *clack-clack-clack* of an assault rifle tearing blindly through the mist. Sparks flew wildly as ricochets struck the iron support pillars of the catwalk.
*Click.*
Far across the chamber, near the maintenance stairs, a bright, concentrated beam of light slashed through the white gloom, moving erratically.
Lily. Right on cue.
"Over there! By the stairs!" the second guard shouted, his heavy boots pounding across the concrete as both men charged away from the trailer toward the decoy light.
I didn't hesitate. I dropped from the low edge of the catwalk, landing ten feet below in a crouching roll onto the concrete. The impact jarred through my knees, sending a sharp lance of pain up my spine, but adrenaline flooded my veins, dulling the agony.
I scrambled through the blinding, freezing fog, keeping my hands extended until they slammed against the cold aluminum siding of the modular trailer.
I slipped through the open doorway into the brightly lit interior.
Julian lay on the floor, coughing violently from the fringes of the vapor that had drifted inside. His eyes widened in shock as he saw me emerge from the mist, my hair plastered to my face with sweat and frost.
"Claire...?" he rasped, his voice raw.
"Quiet," I breathed, pulling Arthur’s utility knife from my pocket. I dropped beside him, sawing frantically through the heavy plastic zip-ties binding his wrists behind his back. The blade bit deep, the plastic snapping with a sharp pop.
Julian groaned, his shoulders rolling forward as circulation rushed back into his bruised, blue fingers. "Claire, she’s insane... she’s wired the mountain..."
"I know," I said, slashing through the ties around his ankles. "Can you stand?"
"I can stand," he grunted, bracing himself against the metal leg of the folding table, pulling himself upright with agonizing slowness. "Where is Lily?"
"She’s safe. Up top. But we have to—"
"How touching," a voice purred from the dark corner of the trailer.
I froze.
Evelyn stepped out from behind the acoustic partition near the rear communication consoles. She wasn't coughing. She held a damp silk handkerchief over her mouth with one hand, and in the other, steady and leveled directly at my forehead, was the chrome revolver.
Her eyes were wild, dilated with a feverish, manic intensity that stripped away every trace of the elegant, poised sister I had grown up with.
"You always were remarkably stubborn, Claire," she whispered, her voice shaking with barely suppressed hysteria. "Always running back into the fire to save things that don't belong to you."
"Evelyn, put the gun down," I said, slowly raising my hands, positioning myself directly between her barrel and Julian. "Arthur is dead. The core is locked. It’s over."
"Over?" Evelyn laughed, a harsh, jagged sound that scraped against the metal walls. "You think this ends because an old man had a heart attack? Arthur Vance didn't build this empire, Claire. *I* built the shell architecture that kept it afloat while he wasted millions trying to buy respectability! He was going to cut me out! He was going to give the family seat to *you*—to the daughter who ran away with an artist and embarrassed him in front of every high-society parasite from Manhattan to London!"
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"He didn't give me anything, Evelyn!" I yelled back, anger finally breaking through my terror. "He left us with nothing! I worked three jobs while you were buying five-thousand-dollar dresses and planning your multi-million-dollar farce of a wedding!"
"Because I earned it!" she screamed, taking a step forward, the gun trembling in her grip. "And now, you're going to give me the locket."
