Chapter 8 - Trapped in the Glass House
The gunfire tore through the elegant library with deafening violence.
Harrison’s first two rounds struck the mercenary on the left square in the chest plate, the kinetic force throwing the armed man backward through the glass French doors leading to the conservatory. Glass shattered into thousands of diamond-like shards, cascading into the rain outside.
The second mercenary spun, bringing his submachine gun up, but Harrison didn't hesitate. He dropped low behind a solid mahogany armchair as a burst of 9mm rounds shredded the leather upholstery above his head, feathers and wood splinters flying like shrapnel.
Harrison leaned around the heavy carved arm of the chair and fired two controlled shots into the gunman’s exposed thigh and collarbone. The mercenary collapsed with a muffled groan, his weapon sliding across the polished floorboards.
Arthur Blackwood didn't wait to fight.
With the cold, calculating survival instinct that had kept him atop the corporate food chain for decades, Arthur grabbed the leather satchel containing the Swiss bearer bonds from the desk and sprinted through the shattered conservatory doors into the sprawling glass greenhouse.
"Blackwood!" Harrison roared, rising from his cover.
He glanced down at Victoria. She was lying on the rug, gasping for air, crimson bubbles frothing at her lips. Her hand reached up, weakly clawing at his pant leg.
"The... safe..." she wheezed, her voice drowning in blood. "Behind... the nursery wall... the red drive... it has Arthur’s... banking codes... he poisoned her, Harrison... he put it... in the tea..."
Her hand fell limp. Her eyes glazed over, staring blankly at the ornate ceiling of the mansion she had tried so desperately to conquer.
Harrison didn't look back. He sprinted through the shattered doors, plunging into the dark, rain-swept labyrinth of the Victorian conservatory.
The conservatory was a massive, two-story structure of wrought iron and antique glass, filled with exotic tropical palms, hanging orchids, and winding stone walkways. Outside, thunder cracked with apocalyptic fury, lighting up the glass ceiling in brilliant, blinding flashes of white.
Water poured through the fractured panes, mixing with the humid, earthy scent of the damp soil.
Harrison moved through the dense foliage, gun raised, his heart thumping against his ribs like a war drum. He could hear the hurried, rhythmic splash of footsteps ahead, near the central pavilion where Evelyn’s prize-winning white orchids were kept.
"You can't shoot me, Harrison!" Arthur’s voice echoed through the vast glass dome, distorted by the rain and the acoustics of the conservatory. "Kill me, and you'll never access the Swiss accounts! You'll spend the next ten years in federal bankruptcy courts while your empire is dismantled piece by piece!"
"I don't care about the money, Arthur!" Harrison shouted back, his eyes scanning the dense palm fronds. "You murdered Evelyn! You tried to murder my daughter!"
"Evelyn was weak!" Arthur’s voice snarled from the upper catwalk. "She inherited a kingdom she had no stomach to rule! She wanted to donate half the family trust to public hospitals! I spent twenty years building this network, and she was going to throw it away on charity!"
A flash of lightning illuminated the upper iron walkway.
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Arthur stood there, silhouetted against the storm, holding a heavy iron wrench in one hand and the satchel in the other. He kicked an overhead industrial water valve, and suddenly a blinding torrent of pressurized irrigation water erupted across the conservatory, soaking everything in a disorienting, deafening mist.
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