Chapter 7 - The Trap in the Archive
"Ethan. Freeze," Lily hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him deep behind a stack of wooden crates.
Footsteps echoed softly on the concrete stairs—deliberate, heavy, and entirely uninvited. No member of the household staff walked like that. Arthur Vance might have been locked away in a federal detention center, but his network of corporate assassins and corporate spies was far from dismantled.
"Who's down here?" a harsh, muffled voice muttered in the shadows.
A beam of a high-powered tactical flashlight swept across the stone floor, missing Lily and Ethan by mere inches.
Ethan’s breathing hitched. He reached instinctively for his forearm crutches leaning against the shelf, but a single sharp look from Lily stopped him. Too loud.
Lily’s mind raced through the layout of the basement. The main cellar door was blocked. But behind the very filing cabinet they had just opened was an old coal chute—sealed off decades ago, yet structurally leading out to the garden window well.
"You check the east corner; I'll sweep the records," the second intruder growled, stepping closer to their hiding spot.
Lily didn't hesitate. She grabbed a heavy brass candlestick holder from a nearby display table and hurled it with all her might toward the far corner of the dark cellar.
Clatter-bang!
The metal struck a stack of empty wine crates, creating a deafening crash that echoed through the stone vaults.
"Over there!" the guards shouted, rushing toward the sound with their flashlights sweeping wildly.
"Now!" Lily whispered to Ethan.
With practiced agility, Lily boosted Ethan toward the recessed coal chute, shoving aside the rotting wooden boards until a gust of cold, crisp night air hit their faces. Ethan scrambled through first, his arms taking his weight, while Lily scrambled right behind him, pulling the rusted grate closed just as the heavy beam of a flashlight illuminated the empty space they had occupied a second before.
They burst out into the moonlit garden, gasping for breath, their hearts hammering against their ribs.
Ten minutes later, breathless and covered in dust, they burst into Maxwell’s private study on the third floor.
Maxwell looked up from his desk, his expression instantly transforming from calm authority to fierce, protective terror as he saw their disheveled clothes.
"What happened?" Maxwell demanded, standing up so fast his chair rolled back and hit the wall.
"We found the missing link," Ethan panted, holding up the weathered leather ledger. "Project Janus. And someone in your security detail let an intruder into the manor tonight to destroy it."
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Maxwell’s eyes darkened into a terrifying storm. He didn't ask questions. He picked up his secure desk phone, his voice dropping into an ice-cold register.
"Lock down the estate perimeter. Code Black. Nobody enters, and nobody leaves until I personally inspect every guard on duty."
