The sound of shattering glass was followed by a heavy silence, then the rhythmic thud of tactical boots on the marble floors. The Onyx Group wasn't sending lawyers or executives this time; they were sending professionals.
"Go! Now!" Arthur shouted, grabbing Alicia's hand and the metallic cylinder from Eleanor's desk.
They didn't head for the front door. Arthur led them through the servant's quarters and out into the darkened garage. Instead of the conspicuous Rolls-Royce, he headed for a rugged, blacked-out SUV tucked in the corner.
"Where are we going?" Alicia gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs as the first gunshot echoed from inside the house.
"To the coordinates," Arthur replied, his face a mask of cold determination. "If we stay here, we're cornered. In the mountains, we have a chance."
They roared out of the side exit just as a black sedan swerved to block the main gate. Arthur didn't slow down; he drove over the manicured lawn, the tires tearing through the grass as they broke onto the main road.
For two hours, they drove in a tense, watchful silence, watching the headlights behind them disappear as they climbed higher into the mountain pass. The city lights became a distant, glowing sea, replaced by the towering, jagged silhouettes of pine trees and granite cliffs.
"Arthur, look," Alicia whispered, pointing to the GPS. The glowing dot was blinking rapidly. They were close.
He turned the SUV off the paved road and onto a narrow, rocky trail that seemed to lead into a dead-end ravine. The branches of the trees scraped against the sides of the car like skeletal fingers. Finally, the trail ended at a sheer rock face covered in thick vines.
"This is it," Alicia said, stepping out into the cold mountain air. The wind howled through the trees, but she felt a strange sense of belonging. Her father had been here. He had built this.
Arthur pulled out a high-powered flashlight, scanning the rock wall. "There has to be a way in."
Alicia walked toward a specific cluster of vines, remembering a sketch her father used to draw in the margins of her childhood storybooks—a hidden door disguised as a natural fissure. She reached behind a jagged stone and felt the cold, smooth surface of a biometric scanner.
"It needs a signature," Alicia realized.
She looked at Arthur, then at the metallic cylinders. But instead of a key, she placed her hand on the scanner. The daughter of the architect. A low hum vibrated through the ground. The rock face didn't slide; it recessed inward, revealing a sleek, industrial elevator made of reinforced steel.
"Welcome home, Miss Mendes," a synthetic voice whispered from the darkness.
But as they stepped inside, a red light flickered on the dashboard of their abandoned SUV. A tracking device. The Onyx Group hadn't lost them—they had let them lead the way.