Chapter 6 - THE TRAP IS SET"Dad, listen to me," I said, grabbing the iron padlock with both hands and examining the heavy steel shackle. It was a high-grade digital mortise lock with a manual override keyhole, completely impervious to brute force without heavy cutting torches.
"There's no key, Julian," Ricardo murmured, his head sinking back against the dirty mattress as exhaustion threatened to pull him under. "The override... it's upstairs in her private wall safe. The biometric scanner... she carries it with her."
"Then we'll wait for her," I said coldly, standing up and wiping the sweat from my brow.
"Julian, no! You can't fight her security team alone!" my father pleaded, panic spiking his voice. "They're armed professionals. They'll kill you on sight!"
"Let them try," I said, a dark, dangerous calm settling over my mind.
Five years in Barrientos prison didn't just teach me how to survive; it taught me how to hunt. In a place where guards looked the other way and inmates fought with shivs fashioned from toothbrushes and bed frames, I learned how to turn a concrete box into a killing floor.
I looked around the sub-basement.
In the corner near the old HVAC unit, maintenance tools were scattered across a wooden workbench: a heavy iron pipe wrench, a spool of thick copper grounding wire, and a canister of pressurized industrial aerosol lubricant.
"Dad, stay back from the door," I commanded softly.
I moved with silent, lethal efficiency. I grabbed the heavy iron pipe wrench—a solid two feet of cold, forged steel—and wedged it firmly into the door frame, using the heavy metal bars as leverage to create a makeshift deadfall trap connected to the overhead water pipe.
Then, I took the spool of copper wire and strung it tightly across the narrow stone hallway, just six inches off the floor, right where anyone stepping out of the elevator would place their first footstep. I wired the exposed end directly into the main electrical junction box hanging loosely from the damp wall.
One spark from the high-voltage breaker, and the entire wet floor of the hallway would become a lethal circuit.
I stepped back into the shadows beside the arched entryway, my breathing slow, deep, and controlled. I held the heavy iron pipe wrench in my right hand, feeling the balanced weight of it against my knuckles.
Click.
The deep, muffled hum of the private elevator echoed through the concrete walls.
The digital display indicator above the heavy steel elevator doors blinked from R to B1.
May you like
11:55 PM.
Right on schedule.
