Chapter 3 - Into the Dark
The darkness was sudden, absolute, and heavy.
The hum of the central air conditioning cut off instantly, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing in the cavernous foyer. A split second later, the backup emergency generators failed to kick in—a clear sign that the estate's electrical grid had not just flickered, but been deliberately severed from the main line.
"Dominic!" Adrian’s voice snapped through the dark, cold and devoid of fear, returning instantly to the tone of a man who commanded an empire.
"I'm here, Boss!" Dominic’s heavy footsteps hurried across the marble. The metallic click of a holster opening echoed in the tight space.
"Get the estate on lockdown. Nobody leaves this floor."
A high-pitched screech of heels against marble shattered the tension. Vanessa was moving toward the heavy oak front doors.
Claire, relying on her trained spatial memory, reached out in the dark. Her hand collided with expensive silk. She grabbed Vanessa’s arm and pulled her backward with all her weight.
"Get off me, you crazy bitch!" Vanessa shrieked, striking out blindly. Her sharp fingernails caught the side of Claire’s neck, leaving a stinging line of fire, but Claire held on, using her body weight to pin Vanessa against the marble pillar.
"Dominic! Flashlight!" Claire shouted.
A sharp beam of light cut through the blackness as Dominic clicked on a heavy tactical flashlight. He swept the beam across the foyer, illuminating the scene: Claire holding a struggling Vanessa against the column, Martha Brooks cowering near the dining room archway, and Adrian sitting upright in his chair, his eyes cold as ice, a dark 9mm pistol suddenly resting in his right hand—drawn from a concealed holster built into the underside of his wheelchair frame.
"Don't move," Adrian said softly. The direction of his gun wasn't pointed at Claire or Vanessa, but toward the dark corridor leading to the estate's east wing.
Footsteps—heavy, fast, and deliberate—were echoing down the long hallway toward the foyer.
"Dominic, light the hallway," Adrian commanded.
Dominic shifted the bright tactical beam down the dark corridor. Standing fifty feet away, illuminated in the harsh white light, were three men. They were not dressed in the tuxedos of party guests. They wore dark tactical gear, rubber-soled boots, and cloth face masks. The leader carried a heavy suppressed submachine gun.
"Luke's men," Dominic growled, stepping in front of Adrian's chair and raising his own sidearm. "The backup lines were cut from the basement."
"They're moving fast because they know the poison didn't finish the job," Adrian said coldly. His hands, which had been shaking uncontrollably minutes before, were suddenly dead steady around the grip of his weapon. Adrenaline was overriding the pharmacological fog in his system. "Claire, drop behind the chair."
Claire didn't hesitate. She dropped to her knees behind the reinforced titanium frame of Adrian's wheelchair, grabbing her medical bag with one hand while keeping a firm grip on Vanessa’s wrist with the other, forcing the socialite down beside her.
"Let me go!" Vanessa sobbed, her aristocratic composure completely shattered. "They aren't here for me!"
"They're here to clean up the mess," Claire hissed near her ear. "And right now, you're a loose end."
A muted thwack-thwack-thwack echoed down the hall as suppressed rounds slammed into the marble column above their heads, sending dust and sharp chips of stone raining down upon them.
Dominic returned fire, the loud blasts of his unsuppressed .45 caliber pistol echoing like cannon shots in the enclosed space. The dark hallway lit up with muzzle flashes. One of the masked men crumpled to the floor with a heavy groan, while the other two dove into the adjacent dining room for cover.
"We can't hold the foyer," Dominic shouted over his shoulder, slamming a fresh magazine into his pistol. "They cut the main gates and the landlines. The security team at the gatehouse isn't responding—they might be compromised or dead. We need to reach the safe room in the west wing!"
"The west wing requires the biometric elevator," Adrian said, his voice flat. "The power is out. It won't run."
"The service stairs," Claire spoke up, her voice surprisingly steady despite the ringing in her ears. "The lower medical kitchen has a manual hydraulic lift for medical supplies. It runs on a mechanical hand-crank system. I used it yesterday to bring up heavy oxygen tanks."
Adrian turned his head slightly, his dark eyes locking onto Claire in the dim light reflected from Dominic's tactical torch. "Can it carry my weight?"
"It carries three hundred pounds," Claire said instantly. "If I operate the manual crank, we can get you down to the lower security bunker beneath the garage."
Adrian didn't waste a second analyzing her credentials or questioning her authority. "Dominic, fall back to the medical corridor. Cover the rear. Claire, lead."
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"What about me?!" Vanessa screamed, clutching her silver dress, which was now torn and stained with marble dust.
"You're coming with us," Adrian said, his gun aimed steadily down the hallway as Dominic fired another three-round burst to suppress the advancing shooters. "Because if you step out those front doors, my cousin will put a bullet in your head to make sure you never testify about who ordered those pills."
