Chapter 8 - THE TRAP CLOSES“Clear!” Marcus shouted, cautiously rising from behind the kitchen island with his rifle raised, staring in utter disbelief at the twitching, paralyzed soldiers on the floor.
Victor stood up, brushing down his suit jacket with absolute composure. He looked up at the ceiling where Titan was calmly lowering himself back down via a balcony drape, landing with absolute silence beside Victor’s feet.
“Good boy,” Victor said, reaching down to scratch the thick fur behind the dog's ears. Titan let out a low, contented rumble, leaning his weight against Victor's knee.
“Boss,” Marcus said, his phone buzzing violently in his tactical vest pocket. He pulled it out, checking the encrypted monitoring feed. “We’ve got a massive problem. The building’s structural sensors just flagged thermal activity on the roof. Thermite charges. Someone’s trying to bring the top three floors down on top of us.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed. General Vance wasn't just sending hit squads anymore; he was willing to level a skyscraper in downtown Chicago to bury his crimes.
“They want to bury the evidence,” Victor said coldly. “Marcus, how long before those thermite charges melt through the primary load-bearing columns?”
“Three minutes. Maybe less,” Marcus replied, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “The elevators are dead, the stairwells are rigged, and the roof is a literal firebomb. We’re locked in a steel tomb.”
Titan suddenly turned away from them, trotting briskly toward the private master-suite corridor at the back of the penthouse. He stopped at a reinforced panic room door, let out a sharp, urgent bark, and began scratching frantically at the heavy steel baseboard.
Victor walked over, studying the wall panel. “The emergency chopper pad. There’s a private egress tunnel leading from the panic room down to the subterranean river-dock exit used for freight smuggling.”
“A private escape route?” Marcus asked. “Built into your own penthouse?”
“Every king needs a back door, Marcus,” Victor replied smoothly. He punched a complex biometric override code into the keypad.
Clunk. Hiss.
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The heavy steel vault door swung open, revealing a steep, darkened concrete slide fitted with emergency rail lines and a private armored transport cart.
“Move!” Victor commanded.
