Chapter 3 - Lockdown in the Dark
The heavy iron security shutters slammed down over the windows with a series of thunderous metallic booms, sealing the mansion off from the outside world like a medieval fortress under siege.
"What is happening?" Vincent’s voice cut sharply through the gloom. He tapped his wristwatch, but the screen flashed a dead red error code: Network Offline. Biometric Override Denied.
"The smart-home grid has been hacked," Claire said, pulling her phone out—zero signal. The internal mesh network had been completely severed. "They've initiated total physical lockdown. We’re trapped inside."
On the floor, Dr. Blake pushed himself up, wiping blood from his lip with a manic grin. In the dim red emergency light, his expression looked feral. "You're trapped, you mean. The system recognizes my biometric profile as secondary administration. Once the lockdown protocols clear, this house becomes a vault."
"Shut up," Vincent barked, grabbing Blake by the collar once more and dragging him toward the stairs. "Where are my sons?"
"Lucas and Leo!" Claire gasped, realization striking her like a physical blow. "If the system is purging and locking down, the ventilation in their bedrooms—"
She didn't finish her sentence. She sprinted down the remaining length of the hallway toward the boys' adjoining rooms, her sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. Vincent was right behind her, dragging Blake along like a ragdoll.
Claire threw open the door to Lucas’s room. The space was bathed in the crimson glow of the emergency lights. Inside, the two seven-year-old twins lay side-by-side in their twin beds, breathing shallowly, their small chests rising and falling with agonizing slowness.
"Lucas? Leo?" Claire rushed to the nearest bed, pressing her fingers against the boy’s wrist. His pulse was thready and dangerously slow. The air in the room was heavy, smelling sharply of the same sweet, synthetic floral compound, but amplified tenfold. The automated purge had backfired—instead of clearing the toxin, the hacked system was flooding the rooms to finish the job.
"The windows!" Vincent yelled, dropping Blake and charging toward the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. He threw his weight against the pane, but the ballistic security glass didn't even fracture. The steel exterior shutters were locked tight.
"We need to get them out of here now," Claire said, sweeping Leo up into her arms. He felt weightless, far too light for a seven-year-old boy. "Vincent, grab Lucas!"
Vincent scooped his other son into his arms, his face contorted with raw anguish and fury. "The panic room is down on the ground floor. It has an independent oxygen supply."
"We can't make it to the ground floor," Claire said, eyeing the smart-control panel by the door. Sparks were beginning to spit from its casing as a high-pitched electrical whine filled the room. "The stairwell doors are fire-latched during lockdown. We're cut off."
"Then we break through the wall," Vincent said, his eyes scanning the master suite adjoining the boys' rooms. "Isabella's old dressing room shares a partition with the exterior service balcony. There's a manual mechanical release for the hurricane shutters hidden behind the vanity mirror."
"Move!" Claire cried.
They rushed into the adjoining suite as the smart-panel in the boys' room sparked violently, sending a plume of black smoke billowing into the air.
Vincent kicked open the ornate mahogany vanity mirror, exposing a manual crank handle wired into the exterior shutter cable. With a roar of pure adrenaline, he grabbed the iron crank and began to turn it. The heavy steel gears screeched in protest, slowly—inch by agonizing inch—lifting the exterior metal shutter enough to reveal a sliver of the cold Connecticut night air outside.
Claire laid the boys gently on the carpet, checking their airways. "They're suffocating. The neurotoxin has paralyzed their respiratory muscles."
"Hold on," Vincent strained, his muscles bulging as he cranked the heavy mechanism until the opening was wide enough to squeeze through. Cool night air rushed into the stale, poisoned room.
Dr. Blake, sensing an opportunity in the chaos, lunged silently toward the open balcony gap, aiming to slip past them into the night.
Claire moved with lightning speed. She swept her foot out, catching Blake behind the ankle, and sent him crashing hard onto the hardwood floor. Before he could recover, Vincent was on top of him, pinning the traitorous doctor with a knee to his chest.
"You're not going anywhere, doctor," Vincent whispered, his voice colder than the winter air outside. "Not until you tell me who hired you."
May you like
Blake coughed, blood staining his teeth as he smiled up into the red emergency light. "You think... you think it was a rival investor? Or a disgruntled board member? Open your eyes, Vincent. Look at who benefits most from your death... and the complete extinction of the Moretti bloodline."
Before Blake could name names, a sharp crack echoed from the courtyard below. A bullet shattered the balcony glass, burying itself inches from Vincent's hand.
