Chapter 3 - THE GENERAL’S REVENGEI stared at the screen, my expression hardening into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. Forty minutes. They thought they had trapped a caged animal. They didn't realize they had just locked themselves in with a apex predator.
"Dad, don't listen to him," Grace whimpered, clutching my arm. "The ventilation system runs on a manual override, but it's welded shut in the utility shaft above—"
"Shh," I interrupted, gently setting her back against the pillows. "Look at me, Grace. Your father didn't survive twenty years in deep-cover black ops by trusting a tyrant's rules."
I stood up, rolling my shoulders. The grief in my chest instantly transmuted into lethal focus. Every tactical calculation I had ever learned flooded my mind. I scanned the reinforced steel walls, the exposed conduit pipes, and the heavy pneumatic lines running to the vault door.
Julian’s voice crackled through the speaker again, dripping with arrogance. "Tick-tock, General! Thirty-five minutes. Do you want to beg? I might let you watch your grandson grow up on a tablet before I bury you both."
"Julian," I spoke into the room's security mic, my voice entirely steady, almost conversational.
"Oh? Ready to surrender?"
"You made one fatal mistake," I said softly.
"And what’s that?"
"You forgot who built this estate before you bought it."
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A sudden silence fell over the intercom. The estate had belonged to my retired commanding officer twenty years ago—a man who had designed every inch of this property as a failsafe bunker against international cartels. And I had helped install the wiring.
With a swift, brutal kick, I smashed open the emergency electrical box beside the steel door. Sparks rained down as I ripped away the insulation, exposing the high-voltage relay cables.
