Chapter 13: The Grand Continental
Chapter 13: The Grand Continental
The Grand Continental Depository was a fortress masquerading as a neo-classical bank. Its marble pillars loomed like sentinels in the financial district. At 3:00 AM, the streets were dead, but the bank's automated vault system was accessible to premium clients twenty-four hours a day. My father stayed in the stolen sedan we had hotwired two blocks away, his hand pressed against his bleeding side, his rifle resting on his lap. He was our only getaway plan. Claire and I walked through the heavy brass revolving doors. My heart was a drum in my chest. We had altered our appearances—I wore a trench coat pulled tight, my hair pinned up; Claire wore dark glasses and a scarf. The solitary night guard at the desk barely looked up from his monitor as I slid the antique silver key across the polished granite counter. "Box 814," I said, pitching my voice lower. The guard took the key, examined it, and nodded. "Thumbprint verification required, ma'am." I froze. Helena hadn't mentioned a thumbprint. Panic flared in my chest. But Claire didn't miss a beat. She reached into her coat, pulling out a small, silicone patch she had peeled off the back of the encrypted hard drive case. "Helena's paranoia," she whispered to me. "She kept her own print molded in case Preston needed access while she was indisposed." Claire pressed the silicone mold against the scanner. A green light flashed. Access Granted. We descended in a silent, glass elevator into the subterranean vaults. Row upon row of gleaming steel boxes stretched into the abyss. We found 814. I inserted the key and turned it. The heavy drawer slid out with a metallic hiss. Inside was a sleek, black server rack the size of a shoebox. The kill switch. The red digital timer on its face read 16:42:11. "We need to smash it," Claire said, reaching for it. "No," a smooth, cultured voice echoed through the vault. We spun around. Stepping out from the shadows of the next aisle was a man in an immaculate tailored suit, holding a silenced pistol. It was Judge Sterling—the man who had "resigned" in disgrace during the trial. "If you destroy it, the signal drops, and the bounty goes live immediately," Sterling smiled, his eyes cold and devoid of mercy. "Helena was just a pawn. I built the empire. And I will not let two little girls burn it down."
