Chapter 4 - VIKTOR’S CHECKMATE“Hello, Caleb,” Viktor’s voice purred through the vault's intercom system, smooth and dripping with malicious triumph. “I hope you’re enjoying your little field trip to the bank. It’s so nostalgic, isn't it? Visiting the past while your future burns to ashes.”
I gripped the arms of my wheelchair, my eyes fixed on the monitor. “Viktore… you son of a bitch. How did you get into my mansion?”
“Oh, your security is top-notch, truly,” Viktor laughed, taking a slow sip of my scotch. “Except for one small flaw. You forgot that money buys loyalty, Caleb. And your head of security—what was his name? Marcus? He always preferred my payroll over your hollow threats.”
I slowly turned my head to look at Leo.
Leo didn't flinch. He didn't look guilty. He simply pulled a secondary silenced pistol from his jacket and leveled it straight at the center of my forehead.
The guards around him gasped, instantly reaching for their weapons, but Leo’s men—who had accompanied us from the SUVs—stepped out of the shadows, their assault rifles pointed squarely at my loyal men.
“Sorry, boss,” Leo said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. “Viktor pays better. And honestly? Watching you sit in that chair for eight years, pretending you’re still the king while the empire crumbles… it got exhausting.”
A cold fury washed over me. Not panic. Not despair. Just a vast, bottomless rage that burned hotter than a furnace.
“You think you’ve won, Viktor?” I spoke into the vault’s intercom microphone, my voice steady, carrying an authority that made even the treacherous guards flinch. “You locked me in a vault. You bought a corrupt guard. You think you control the streets?”
“I control everything, Caleb,” Viktor laughed on the screen. “By sunrise, your bank accounts will be drained, your syndicates will answer to me, and you will suffocate in that concrete box as a footnote in the history of the Harbor.”
The monitor clicked off.
Pitch blackness enveloped the vault once more, broken only by the faint, pulsing red glow of the oxygen monitors on the wall.
“Oxygen levels dropping,” the automated voice of the vault system chimed mechanically. “Estimated time until breathable air depletion: forty-five minutes.”
Leo’s voice echoed through the speaker panel from the outside. “Rest in peace, Harbor King. We’ll make sure your legacy is… well-managed.”
Inside the vault, my men were panicking. Some were hammering at the steel walls with crowbars, while others were frantically trying to pick the electronic keypad with pocket knives.
“Stop,” I said.
My voice cut through the chaos like a razor.
I rolled my wheelchair back from the vault door, holding Audrey’s journal in one hand and the USB drive in the other.
“Boss, we’re going to suffocate in here!” one of my guards cried out.
“We only suffocate if we wait for them to save us,” I replied softly.
I looked down at my right leg. The tingling sensation was back, stronger now, pulsing with a rhythmic, stubborn heat. I closed my eyes and remembered Pier 4. I remembered Audrey’s smile. I remembered the night we swore we would never let the world break us.
“Your legs aren't broken, Caleb. They’re just waiting for you to remember why you stopped running.”
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I gripped my thighs with both hands. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth until my jaw felt like it was going to shatter, and forced every ounce of my remaining willpower down into my hips, my knees, my ankles.
Move.
