Chapter 8 - Securing the Penthouse Against an Imminent Assault
The overhead lights flickered violently as the penthouse emergency generators kicked in with a low, vibrating hum.
“Carter! Blake! Fall back to the executive core and seal the hydraulic blast doors!” Julian ordered into his lapel communicator.
A burst of static answered him, followed by the sound of heavy metal slamming shut down in the lower stairwell.
Julian unlocked a heavy oak cabinet behind his desk, pulling out a sleek, matte-black tactical defense rifle and sliding a magazine into place.
He tossed a secondary sidearm across the table toward Clara, who caught it out of mid-air with practiced reflex.
“Can you still shoot, or was your father the only one with tactical training in the family?” Julian asked coolly, charging the slide.
Clara checked the chamber with a sharp click, a cold, confident smirk touching her lips.
“Try me, Julian. I survived five years in exile hiding from your clean-up crews; a few corporate mercenaries won't be a challenge,” she replied.
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The elevator chime echoed through the silent hallway outside the double doors, announcing the arrival of the uninvited guests.
Julian took his position beside the curtained archway, aiming directly at the reinforced oak entrance.
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