Chapter 5 - Breaking the Vault
The Pacific Palisades estate loomed against the dark coastline like a fortress of glass and brushed concrete. Perched on a jagged cliff overlooking the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean, the house screamed modern architectural luxury—and total isolation.
We parked the unmarked van half a mile down the winding coastal road, concealed beneath a canopy of sprawling eucalyptus trees.
Benny sat in the driver’s seat with a ruggedized laptop glowing in his lap, his fingers flying across the keyboard in a blur of motion.
“Deauth attack initiating in three... two... one,” Benny muttered.
Across the street, the soft blue perimeter lights encircling the estate flickered twice, then blinked out entirely. The automated security gates ground to a sudden halt, their internal motors dying.
“You’re blind for three minutes and forty seconds,” Benny whispered, handing me a small, black radio headset. “Go.”
I slipped through the side pedestrian gate, which now swung open freely without resistance. Moving like a ghost in the shadows of the manicured hedges, I crossed the stone courtyard and reached the rear sliding glass door of the master study.
It was locked, but a small pneumatic glass cutter made quick, silent work of the lower corner panel. Reaching through, I unlocked the latch and slid the door open, stepping into the cool, leather-scented sanctuary of Ryan’s private domain.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint silver glow of the moonlight reflecting off the ocean outside. Rows of mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, interspersed with framed patents bearing Ryan’s name.
I moved directly to the large oak executive desk. Ryan’s primary laptop was closed, but beside it sat a small, matte-black charging dock holding an encrypted satellite phone—the burner he used to communicate with the medical syndicate offshore.
My fingers flew over the dock, lifting the phone. It was unlocked—Ryan was always arrogant enough to leave his devices accessible in his own fortress.
I plugged a portable USB data siphon into the base port. Benny’s script began executing automatically, downloading gigabytes of encrypted correspondence, call logs, and financial records straight to my pocket-sized drive.
Progress: 45%... 70%... 90%... Complete.
I yanked the USB drive free, exhaling a breath I felt like I’d been holding for an hour.
Suddenly, the overhead recessed lights in the study clicked on with a sharp snap.
“Looking for something, Mariana?”
May you like
I froze.
Standing in the doorway, blocking the only exit, was Ryan. He wasn't wearing his tuxedo anymore; he wore a dark silk bathrobe, his hair slightly disheveled, a cold, predatory smile playing on his lips. In his right hand, he held a sleek, silenced Walther PPK pistol, pointed squarely at my chest.
