Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Vance Industries
The underground station was crowded with commuters, the smell of damp air, metallic grease, and cheap hot dogs filling the space. The turnstiles clicked rhythmically as people swiped their transit cards.
"Go, go!" Maxwell urged, pushing past a startled commuter and jumping over the turnstile. Elena followed, pulling Arya with her.
Behind them, at the top of the stairs, the three men in gray tactical gear appeared. They had discarded their heavy weapons for concealed sidearms, but their intent was no less lethal. The crowd began to scream as people noticed the armed men moving with terrifying speed down the steps.
"The train’s coming!" Elena yelled, pointing to the dark tunnel where two glowing headlights were emerging. The platform vibrated with the screech of steel wheels.
"We won't make the platform!" Maxwell realized. The crowd was panicking, creating a bottleneck at the stairs. "This way!"
He dragged them toward an "Employees Only" door near the end of the platform. He threw his weight against it. It was locked. Without hesitation, Maxwell took his heavy leather briefcase, wedged it into the door handle, and used it as a lever. With a splintering crack, the lock gave way.
They slipped into a dark, narrow utility corridor just as a bullet shattered the tile wall where Arya’s head had been a second prior.
Maxwell slammed the door shut and bolted it from the inside. They were in total darkness, save for the emergency green exit lights casting long, eerie shadows down a concrete corridor.
"Are you okay?" Elena asked, kneeling down to check Arya. The girl was shaking so violently she couldn't speak, but she nodded, clutching Elena’s neck.
"We need to keep moving," Maxwell said, his voice strained. He pulled out his phone to use the flashlight, but the screen showed zero service. "We are deep underground. The tracking signal on the card should be temporarily blocked, but they’ll search these tunnels floor by floor."
"Why are they doing this?" Elena asked, her voice filled with anger and fear. "It’s just money, Maxwell! No government agency or private militia hunts a child through the subway for money!"
"It's not just money, Elena," a voice echoed from the darkness ahead of them.
Maxwell whipped his phone light toward the sound.
Standing in the shadows of the utility corridor was a man. He looked to be in his late fifties, wearing a dirty, tattered trench coat, his beard long and unkempt. But his eyes were sharp, intelligent, and completely sober.
"Who are you?" Maxwell demanded, stepping in front of Elena and Arya.
The man stepped into the light. He looked at Arya, and his face softened with a profound, tragic sadness. "She looks just like her mother. Clara was always the bravest of us."
Arya gasped, her small voice rising above the hum of the distant subway. "Uncle... Uncle Arthur?"
The man smiled warmly. "Hello, sweetheart. I told your mother I’d keep an eye out for you. I just hoped this day would never come."
"You know him?" Elena asked Arya.
"He... he used to visit us when we had a house," Arya said. "Before the fire. He gave me my wooden music box."
"My name is Arthur Vance," the man said, looking at Maxwell. "I was the chief technology officer of Vance Industries. And I am the man who helped Clara hide that four-billion-dollar curse."
Maxwell’s breath hitched. "Arthur Vance? You were reported dead twelve years ago! The plane crash—"
"Was orchestrated by the very people chasing you right now," Arthur said grimly. "The board of directors of Grand Summit Bank, in collusion with a rogue faction of the Department of Defense. They didn't want our defense tech. They wanted our global financial override system—Project Aethelgard."
"What is Aethelgard?" Elena asked, her voice trembling.
"It’s not an investment portfolio," Arthur explained, his eyes turning cold. "It’s a digital backdoor into every major central bank on earth. The four billion dollars on that card isn't just a balance. It’s the interest accumulated from a test run of the software. If they get that card, they can manipulate global currency values at will. They can crash the dollar, the euro, or the yen with a single line of code. They don't want to capture Arya to give her a home, Mr. Grant. They want her biometric signature. The account is locked with her DNA."
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Maxwell felt a chill run down his spine. He looked at the card in his pocket. It wasn't a ticket to ultimate wealth. It was a detonator.
"And now," Arthur said, looking toward the door they had just bolted, which was already beginning to shudder under heavy blows from the outside. "They are going to kill us all to get it."
