Chapter 6 - The Courtyard Confrontation
The basement air was cool, smelling of damp stone and ozone, but the distant roar of the fire above reminded them they were still inside a tomb.
"The back exit," Grayson gasped, pressing his hand against his ribs where a bruised muscle flared with pain. "There's an old storm cellar door leading out to the cliffside path."
They dashed through the labyrinth of stone-walled utility rooms. The flickering emergency lights cast long, distorted shadows across the damp brick walls.
As they reached the heavy iron storm doors at the end of the passage, the exit was blocked.
Two men stepped out from the shadows, blocking the path. One of them was Rex Petrov, his heavy revolver raised and pointed straight at Grayson’s chest. The other was Arthur Sterling, adjusting his expensive silk tie despite the ash coating his lapels.
"Well, well," Sterling smiled smoothly, though his eyes were frantic. "Looks like you survived the barbecue, Grayson. Too bad you won't make it to dessert."
Petrov chuckled, cocking his weapon. "I told you we should have checked the wine cellar twice. Women and cleaning carts always find a way to be a nuisance."
Grayson stepped slightly in front of Delia, putting his body between her and the barrels of their guns. "You're late, Arthur," Grayson said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "The federal task force has already been pinged by my encrypted backup server. The moment this mansion burns, every account you hold in the Caymans is getting frozen."
Sterling’s smile vanished instantly. His face went pale. "You're bluffing."
"Am I?" Grayson smiled coldly. "Check your phone, Arthur."
Petrov glanced sideways at Sterling, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Don't listen to him, Mr. Sterling. Just put a bullet in them and let the fire finish the job."
Grayson braced himself, ready to launch into a hopeless, desperate charge to buy Delia a second of escape.
He didn't see what Delia was holding.
While the two men were distracted by Grayson's words, Delia had quietly unclipped the heavy, high-pressure industrial chemical sprayer from her utility belt—the one filled with pure, concentrated ammonia and cleaning solvents she had mixed in the service kitchen.
With a sudden, violent motion, she stepped past Grayson and pumped the handle three times straight into Petrov’s eyes.
Hiss.
"Ahhh! Goddamn it!" Petrov shrieked, dropping his gun as blinding chemical mist seared his face, staggering backward into the brick wall.
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Before Sterling could react, Grayson lunged forward, slamming his fist into the lawyer's jaw with the force of a man reclaiming his entire empire. Sterling crumpled to the floor, unconscious before he hit the stone.
"Run!" Grayson yelled, grabbing Delia’s hand.
