Chapter 6 - Breach at the Grand AtriumThe heavy glass doors of Crowe Manor’s grand atrium shattered inward with an explosive roar.
Shards of crystal rained down across the marble floor as a dozen heavily armed mercenaries poured into the foyer, their tactical flashlights cutting through the dim, amber-lit interior.
At the top of the grand double staircase, standing calmly with his arms crossed over his chest, was Nathaniel Crowe.
Behind him, Marcus held a heavy-caliber rifle trained on the lead mercenary.
"Nathaniel Crowe!" shouted a voice from the center of the tactical squad. A tall, scarred man in an unmarked Kevlar vest stepped forward, lowering his night-vision goggles. Victor Vance. "Hand over the titanium drive, and we make this quick and painless for everyone inside this mausoleum."
"Victor," Nathaniel’s voice echoed effortlessly across the vaulted marble foyer. "You always were an impatient dog. Coming onto my property uninvited... your mother never taught you manners."
"Times have changed, Nathan," Vance sneered, raising his assault rifle. "Your empire is crumbling from the inside out. Grant is finished, your council is scattered, and you're standing alone."
"Am I?" Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.
At that exact second, every overhead light in Crowe Manor went pitch black.
Before Vance’s men could adjust their night-vision optics, the heavy steel security shutters dropped over every window and door on the ground floor with deafening metallic crashes, trapping the mercenaries inside a giant steel cage.
"What the hell?!" Vance yelled, spinning around as red emergency strobe lights flickered to life along the baseboards.
"You walked right into the vault, Victor," Nathaniel said smoothly from the darkness above.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
From the upper balconies, automated security turrets—developed by the Crowe tech division and tied directly to the estate's biometric mainframe—swiveled down from the ceiling, their red laser targeting sights locking onto every single mercenary in the foyer.
May you like
"Drop your weapons," Nathaniel’s voice commanded through the intercoms, cold and absolute. "Or you will be disassembled before you hit the floor."
Vance gritted his teeth, his finger twitching on his trigger. He looked up at Nathaniel silhouette against the strobe lights, realizing too late that walking into Crowe Manor wasn't an execution—it was a trap.
