Chapter 4 - THE BATTLE FOR WINDOW NUMBER ONE
"When the Wolves Wear Kevlar."The glass facade of the bank shattered into a million sparkling shards as a black, armored SUV backed straight through the entrance, destroying the security barrier.
Four heavily armed men in unmarked black tactical gear, helmets, and assault rifles stormed into the lobby. The wealthy clients screamed, throwing themselves onto the cold marble floor, covering their heads.
"Nobody move!" the lead mercenary barked, his rifle scanning the room. "Alliance Bank is now under federal asset seizure. Secure the child!"
Director Garza immediately threw his body over Mateo, shielding the boy behind the heavy oak counter of Window Number One. "This is an illegal intrusion! This is private property!"
"Not anymore, Garza," the lead mercenary said, walking forward with cold, measured steps. He raised his rifle, aiming it directly at Garza’s head. "The Genesis Syndicate has just purchased ninety percent of Alliance Bank's outstanding debt. You are officially trespassing. Hand over the boy and the silver key, or this room becomes a graveyard."
From behind the counter, Robles slowly stood up, raising his hands but wearing a treacherous smile. "Over here! The boy is behind the counter! He has the key around his neck!"
"Robles, you coward!" Garza roared.
"I am a survivor, Director," Robles sneered, stepping away from the counter and walking toward the mercenaries. "I don't ride sinking ships. Gentlemen, the key is right there. Now, where is my reward?"
The lead mercenary didn't even look at Robles. He simply raised his left hand and made a slight motion.
BANG.
A single shot rang out. Robles gasped, clutching his shoulder as he fell to the ground, crying in agony.
"We don't pay traitors," the mercenary said coldly. "We just use them."
The mercenary advanced on Window Number One. Mateo, trembling but fueled by an adrenaline he had never felt before, looked at the silver key in his bloody hand. He looked at the cracked leather briefcase.
“Mateo,” his grandfather’s voice echoed in his memory. “If they ever corner you, remember: the briefcase is not a shield. It is a key of its own. Press the gold crest on the handle twice.”
With the mercenary just three steps away, Mateo reached down, grabbed the handle of the old briefcase, and pressed the tarnished gold crest twice.
A sharp, high-pitched hum suddenly emitted from the briefcase.
An advanced EMP (Electromagnetic Pulse) device, built into the antique frame by Don Alejandro decades ago as a final line of defense, detonated.
POP.
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Every light in the bank went dead. The computerized scopes on the mercenaries' rifles flickered and died. The emergency sirens stopped. The entire digital network of the bank was instantly fried into useless silicone.
In the pitch black, Garza grabbed Mateo's hand. "Now! To the vault!"
