Chapter 8 - THE RECKONING IN THE EAST WINGVictor didn't panic. Panic was a luxury for the weak, and Victor Hale had built his empire on cold, calculated survival. Working by the faint, dying flicker of his silver lighter, he examined the iron bolt on Clara’s bedroom door. The wood around the frame was old and dry, weakened by decades of moisture trapped in the sealed wing.
Taking a deep breath, Victor backed up across the room, lined up his target, and charged forward with all his weight, driving his shoulder like a battering ram directly into the lock.
CRACK!
The old oak splintered violently, the iron bolt tearing clean out of the rotting wall frame. The door flew open, crashing against the hallway wall.
Victor didn't pause. He sprinted down the corridor, leaping over the banister of the grand staircase and dropping heavily onto the marble floor of the main foyer below. The air here was thick with the suffocating stench of gas.
He rushed to the study door, grabbing the brass handle and twisting it frantically. It was jammed.
"Lily! Ethan!" Victor shouted, throwing his entire weight against the heavy mahogany door.
From inside, a muffled cry answered him, followed by the sound of coughing. "Mr. Hale! The door... it's stuck from the outside!"
Victor grabbed a heavy marble side-table from the foyer, lifting it high above his head and smashing it repeatedly against the door hinges until the wood gave way in an explosion of splinters. He kicked the remaining wreckage aside and rushed into the smoke-filled room.
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Lily was kneeling on the floor, coughing violently as she cradled a terrified, weeping Ethan in her arms.
"I've got you," Victor said, scooping both of them up in one fluid motion. "Hold onto my neck, Lily. Don't let go."
