Chapter 18 - The Tunnels of the Forgotten
A collective gasp swept through the ballroom, followed by absolute, horrified silence.
Clara’s world shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. Her scream tore through the room, raw and deafening. "JJ!"
Julian moved like a predator unleashed, pulling his weapon from his tuxedo jacket and vaulting onto the stage in one explosive leap. But Vivian didn't even flinch. She took a slow step backward into the service corridor behind the stage, surrounded instantly by three men in black tactical gear who opened fire toward the ceiling, sending the hundreds of socialites screaming and stampeding toward the exits.
"Julian!" Clara screamed, sprinting through the chaos, dodging panicked guests as glass shattered and tables flipped.
On the massive screen, the water had already reached Arthur’s waist. The bassinet was floating, tethered by a single fraying rope to the concrete pillar.
Vivian’s voice crackled through the hotel’s public address system:
*“The old storm drains beneath the estate reservoir, Julian. You have twenty minutes before the valves fully open and the vault floods completely. Come alone with Clara. If a single police siren sounds within five miles of the property, I cut the tether.”*
The live feed went black.
Julian grabbed Clara’s arm, hauling her through the rear service exit into the rain-soaked alley where their armored SUV sat waiting. Julian slammed his foot onto the accelerator, the engine roaring like a wounded beast as they tore through the Chicago streets toward the estate, running red lights, tires screaming against wet asphalt.
"How did she get to them?!" Clara sobbed, tears blurring her vision, her fingers digging into the dashboard until her knuckles were white. "Arthur was at the safehouse! How did she find our baby?!"
"The safehouse was purchased under a subsidiary of Harold’s old trust," Julian snarled, his eyes fixed on the rain-swept highway ahead, driving at over one hundred miles per hour. "Vivian had the master deeds all along. She played us from the second she stepped into that hospital."
Julian looked sideways at Clara, his voice cracking with an unbearable mixture of rage and grief. "Clara, that vault is forty feet underground. It was designed to withstand a bomb blast. When the water fills it, there is no air pocket. None."
Clara wiped the tears from her face, her breathing turning slow, cold, and lethal. The terror in her eyes hardened into something ancient and terrifying.
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"She tried to drown me once," Clara whispered, pulling a spare Glock from the glove compartment and racking the slide with brutal efficiency. "I survived. Tonight, I drown her."
***
