Chapter 5 - The Cistern Beneath the HouseThe old cistern.
The revelation hit me like a lightning bolt. When I purchased the estate, the historical blueprints showed a decommissioned 19th-century water cistern directly beneath the north wing of the mansion—supposedly sealed off with three feet of reinforced concrete during the 1950s.
Except Vanguard Systems had renovated the estate.
Vance hadn't just installed a smart-home network; he had hollowed out the historic cistern during the construction phase, turning it into a subterranean command bunker right under my children's nursery.
“Marco,” I said, standing up and rolling up my sleeves. “Give me your tactical crowbar.”
Marco handed it over without a word. “Boss, what are you doing?”
“We’re going down.”
I strode over to the brass floor plate we had just forced open to clear the air vents. Peering down into the dark abyss beneath the copper cable, I could see the faint, eerie glow of computer monitors reflecting off damp stone walls.
“Going somewhere, Adrien?” Vance’s voice echoed through the room, laced with sudden tension. “Step away from the shaft. One move, and I detonate the explosive charges wired to the foundation pillars of this entire wing.”
“You won’t blow up the house, Vance,” I said, keeping my voice ice-cold. “You spent three years building this sanctuary to watch me suffer. You want to look me in the eye when you finish what you started.”
Silence stretched across the room, heavy and suffocating.
Then, a slow, mechanical hiss echoed from beneath the floorboards.
A section of the nursery’s hardwood flooring near the cribs unlocked with a heavy pneumatic thud, sliding sideways to reveal a dark, spiral metal staircase leading down into the earth.
A wave of damp, chilled air billowed upward, carrying the unmistakable scent of ozone, old dust, and human malice.
“Stay here,” I told Marco, Elena, and Dr. Gable, my hand resting firmly on the grip of the concealed pistol at my waist.
“Boss, you can’t go down there alone,” Marco growled, stepping forward. “It’s a suicide mission.”
“If I don’t go down there, we all die in this room anyway,” I replied calmly.
As I stepped toward the open staircase, a small, warm hand tugged at my trouser leg.
May you like
I looked down. Sophie was looking up at me, her button-eyed doll clutched tightly to her chest.
“Be careful, Mr. Moretti,” she whispered softly. “He has a lot of mirrors.”
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