Chapter 8 - The Traitor's Trap
""Vincent, you arrogant bastard,"" Julian’s voice sneered through the intercom speaker. ""You brought your little stray straight into the slaughterhouse. The vault ventilation system is disabled. In forty-five minutes, the oxygen in that chamber will be depleted. And once you're suffocated, my men will retrieve the drive and burn that pathetic diary.""
Panic surged through my chest, hot and suffocating. The air already felt thicker, heavy with the metallic tang of closed steel.
""Vincent!"" I gasped, grabbing his arm.
Vincent didn't panic. In fact, his posture remained terrifyingly relaxed. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his encrypted phone, and tapped a single button on the screen.
A low chime rang through the vault room.
""Julian,"" Vincent said calmly, speaking toward the ceiling vent. ""Do you truly believe I’ve survived twenty years running New York by walking into a bank vault without owning the bank?""
A stunned silence fell over the intercom.
""What are you talking about?"" Julian stammered, his bravado instantly slipping.
""Manhattan Central Bank was restructured under a holding company six months ago,"" Vincent said, a dark smirk playing on his lips even in the dim emergency lighting. ""I own seventy percent of the shares. The bank manager called Marco the moment you offered him two million dollars yesterday to lock this door. We let you set this trap, Julian. Because attempted murder inside a federal financial institution carries no bail.""
Through the vault's thick steel door, the muffled sound of shouting, heavy boots, and tactical flashbangs suddenly detonated.
“Federal agents! Drop your weapons! On the ground! Now!”
Sirens echoed down the bank’s corridors. Heavy thuds and cries of agony vibrated through the reinforced walls as the FBI's tactical unit swarmed Julian’s private security detail.
Two minutes later, the massive vault door hissed as pneumatic pressure released, swinging open to reveal daylight and a dozen armed federal officers escorting a handcuffed, screaming Julian Bennett into the lobby.
Vincent stepped out into the open hall, keeping his arm firmly around my shoulder.
Julian glared at me with wild, bloodshot eyes as agents pushed his head down toward the marble floor. ""You're nothing! You're a beggar who slept in the dirt! You don't deserve that name!""
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I stopped walking. I pulled Clara's letter and the encrypted flash drive from my pocket, holding them up so he could see them clearly under the bank chandeliers.
""My mother died with a clean conscience,"" I said, my voice steady, clear, and ringing across the crowded lobby. ""You're going to die in a federal penitentiary with nothing. Clara made sure of it.""
