THE MORNING AFTER GRANDPA'S FUNERAL, MY PARENTS CAME TO STEAL HIS HOUSE. THEY NEVER EXPECTED THE MAN WAITING BEHIND HIS STUDY DOOR / Chapter 87 / 118

Chapter 87 - The Architect’s Final Retribution

I moved through the service corridors of Sector 4 like a phantom through an iron crypt. The floor vibrated beneath my boots as the Syndicate’s industrial excavation rigs hammered through the external bulkhead ahead.

The smell was changing—the sterile, dry air of Vault Zero was being replaced by the acrid stench of cutting torches, thermite paste, and ozone.

I clamped the miniaturized rebreather into my mouth, bite-tabs secured between my molars. Through the earpiece, Victoria’s voice crackled: *"Halon systems primed, Julian. I have eyes on Sector 4 through the security feeds. Eleanor has six heavy operators in full environmental suits. Richard is tied to the central stanchion. Eleanor is holding a detonator."*

"Wait for my mark to drop the gas," I whispered, sliding into the shadows behind a cluster of hydraulic pressure conduits.

Ahead lay the staging bay. Through the sparks of cutting steel, I saw her.

Eleanor Vance stood like an empress of the underworld amid the dust and smoke. Her mercenaries were monstrous, hulking figures encased in matte-black powered exoskeletons, their assault rifles slung across their broad chests.

My father sat bound beneath them, his breathing ragged, his head drooping toward his chest.

"Two minutes, Julian!" Eleanor’s voice echoed off the steel walls, amplified by her comm unit. "I know you're lurking in the pipes! Arthur always made you crawl through the maintenance shafts when you played hide-and-seek at the old house! You think you're invisible, but you are entirely predictable!"

I stepped out from behind the bulkhead, raising the rail-carbine into the low-ready position.

"I’m right here, Mother."

Eleanor turned slowly, an amused, predatory smile curving her crimson lips. "Look at you. Playing the soldier with Arthur's toys. Put the core on the floor, Julian, and step back."

"You let him go first," I said, my voice steady through the rebreather.

"Oh, Julian," she sighed, shaking her head. "You still think this is a negotiation."

She raised the detonator in her left hand. "This is keyed to the high-explosive charges my divers planted along the dry dock's foundation pillars. If I press this, the Atlantic Ocean comes crashing through this ceiling. We all die together—except my men and I have pressurized escape pods waiting outside. You drown in the dark."

"You won't press it," I said, taking one deliberate step forward. "Because if you drown this station before you extract the sovereign crypto-keys from the core, the Syndicate Council will hunt you to the ends of the earth for your failure. You’re terrified of them, Eleanor."