Chapter 8 - The Shadow in the Cellar
A heavy footstep thudded against the stone floor just outside the iron-bolted cellar door.
Cole immediately clicked off the penlight, throwing the vaulted room back into pitch darkness.
Hannah pressed herself flat against the brick wall, holding her breath until her ribs ached.
The heavy brass door handle rattled violently, followed by a sharp kick against the oak planks.
"I know you're in there, Cole," a voice called out through the thick wood.
It was not Marcus.
It was Daniel Cross, his voice cold, steady, and dripping with smug satisfaction.
"You always hid in the south cellars when you were a boy playing hide-and-seek with Vincent."
"Did you really think I didn't know every square foot of this estate?"
Cole did not answer; he drew a small, heavy brass fire poker from the rack beside the hearth.
Cross chuckled, a low, rasping sound that vibrated through the iron hinges.
"Your father was a coward, Cole."
"He thought he was being clever by tucking that bastard boy into the security detail under Clara’s family name."
"He thought that if Marcus grew up without knowing who he was, I would never find him."
Hannah felt a sharp stab of anger pierce through her terror.
"Where is Marcus?" Hannah shouted through the door before Cole could stop her.
Cole grabbed her arm, his grip urgent, but the words were already out.
Cross laughed, the sound muffled by the heavy timber.
"Ah, little Hannah Moore."
"Still sweet, just like the sauce Betty used to feed you while your mother was dying in custody."
"Don't worry about Marcus."
"He's currently cuffed to the steering wheel of my cruiser at the bottom of the drive."
"He was quite surprised to learn that the billionaire he’s been guarding for six years is actually his older half-brother."
"And he was even more surprised to learn that his real father left him fifty million dollars in a blind trust that he will never live to spend."
Cole stepped closer to the door, his voice lethal.
"If you touch him, Cross, you will never leave this valley alive."
"Is that a threat from the DeLuca heir?" Cross mocked.
"You don't have the stomach for this war, Cole."
"Your father didn't have it either."
"Now open this door and hand over the green ledger, the intake form, and the tape."
"If you do, I might let Betty live out her retirement in a state nursing home."
"If you don't, I will introduce a can of commercial accelerant through this ventilation grate and watch this entire foundation cook."
Betty gripped Hannah’s hand, her skin burning with feverish desperation.
"The dumbwaiter," Betty whispered into Hannah’s ear, her breath trembling against Hannah’s cheek.
"Behind the wine rack in the alcove."
"It goes straight to the old butler's pantry behind the kitchen."
"Take Cole and go."
Hannah shook her head fiercely in the dark.
"I am not leaving you here, Betty."
"You have to," the old woman hissed, her fingers digging into Hannah's arm with surprising strength.
"He won't kill me yet; he needs me to identify the ledger pages."
"Go get Marcus."
"Save your brother, Hannah."
Cole understood the tactical advantage immediately.
He pulled the wooden rack of vintage port away from the rear wall, revealing the wooden door of an antique freight dumbwaiter.
The steel cables were thick, counterweighted, and built to carry crates of wine up to the grand dining room.
Cole forced the hatch open and shoved Hannah inside the small, dark compartment.
"Climb the maintenance ladder mounted to the cable shaft," Cole instructed quietly.
"I am right behind you."
Hannah grabbed the rungs, pulling herself up into the narrow, vertical shaft just as the first heavy blow struck the cellar door.
Outside, the hiss of a pressurized canister echoed through the ventilation pipes.
Cross had begun spraying industrial fuel through the intake grates.
Cole pulled himself into the shaft behind Hannah, his boots catching the lower rungs.
"Move, Hannah!" Cole urged, his voice tight with adrenaline.
Hannah climbed with furious energy, the iron rungs biting into her palms as fumes of gasoline began drifting upward from below.
Behind them, Betty Collins screamed as the cellar door was finally battered off its hinges.
The sound of boots stormed into the vault, followed by Cross’s furious roar when he saw the empty table.
Hannah kicked open the wooden hatch of the butler's pantry on the first floor and tumbled out onto the linoleum tiles.
Cole scrambled out after her, slamming the hatch shut and shoving a heavy oak cabinet across the opening.
The kitchen smelled of smoke, rain, and the faint, sweet aroma of the ruined tomato sauce still sitting in the cold Dutch oven.
Cole grabbed a set of vehicle keys from the kitchen command board.
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"We have to reach the gatehouse before Cross realizes we exited through the pantry," Cole said, his face blackened with cellar dust.
They bolted through the rear service door of the kitchen and plunged into the roaring, rain-drenched night.
