CHAPTER 6: Through the Iron Gates
The freezing water poured down in sheets, soaking my clothes to my skin and plastering my hair to my face. The alarms shrieked a high-pitched, electronic warning that made my temples throb, while the flashing red strobe lights cast long, demonic shadows against the marble pillars.
Marcus yanked me hard toward the back corridor behind the executive elevators, his grip fierce and uncompromising. I stumbled over my heels, nearly losing my footing on the slick floor, but the sheer adrenaline coursing through my veins kept me moving.
Behind us, the sharp, deafening cracks of automatic gunfire echoed through the cavernous lobby, accompanied by shouts and the sound of heavy boots splashing through standing water.
"Where are we going?" I shouted over the din, trying to wrench my arm free from his grip. "Marcus, let go of me! You helped orchestrate all of this! You lied to me for twenty years!"
Marcus didn't stop running. He dragged me down a narrow, windowless concrete stairwell that plunged steeply into the bowels of the building, far beneath the downtown streets of Phoenix.
"I lied to keep you alive, Elena!" Marcus yelled back, his voice strained and ragged as he kicked open a heavy steel fire door at the bottom of the landing. "Your father wasn't a saint! He built this firm on stolen capital, and when the cartels and the international syndicates came to collect, he faked his death, transferred every penny into a blind trust under your name, and left me behind to clean up the mess!"
We burst through the heavy door into a dim, subterranean parking sub-level that smelled heavily of exhaust fumes, damp concrete, and old oil. Row after row of luxury sedans sat shrouded in shadows under flickering fluorescent tubes.
Marcus shoved me toward a matte-black armored Mercedes-Maybach tucked away in the furthest, darkest corner of the garage. He slammed his hand against the vehicle's window, and the interior lights immediately flashed on.
"Get in the back!" Marcus ordered, punching a code into a keypad built into the driver's side door.
"I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me where my father is!" I snapped, planting my feet firmly against the concrete, refusing to budge an inch despite the water streaming down my face.
Marcus stopped, turning to face me. His eyes were wide, desperate, and completely devoid of the cold composure he had worn upstairs. He reached inside his drenched coat, pulled out a heavy, tarnished silver pocket watch, and shoved it directly into my hands.
My breath caught. It was my father's pocket watch—the one he supposedly had with him on the plane when it crashed twenty years ago. The crystal face was cracked, but the intricate engraving on the back was unmistakable: J.S. — Forever.
"Open it," Marcus whispered urgently, glancing back up the concrete ramp behind us where the faint sound of heavy boots echoing down the stairwell could now be heard. "Your father didn't leave you an inheritance of money, Elena. He left you a map. And the key inside this watch is the only thing keeping those men from finding the coordinates to the vault in the desert."
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Before I could flip open the back casing of the watch, the harsh glare of high-beam headlights swept across the sub-level garage. Two heavy black SUVs came tearing down the ramp, their tires screeching violently against the concrete as they blocked off the exit route, cutting us off completely.
Marcus swore loudly, pushing me behind the armored car. "Get down!"
