Chapter 16 - The Blackout Gala
The Hawthorne Depository on Wall Street was an impenetrable fortress built of granite and reinforced titanium.
It housed not only billions in gold bullion and private securities, but every family secret since 1890.
When Arthur’s convoy arrived at the intersection of Broad and Wall, the entire financial district was plunged into pitch darkness.
A localized blackout had knocked out four city blocks, killing streetlamps, traffic signals, and security feeds.
Sirens wailed in the distance, trapped in gridlocked traffic blocks away.
Arthur stepped out of the vehicle, racking the slide of his tactical pistol.
"Thermal goggles on," Arthur ordered his men. "Shoot anyone not wearing our private security insignia."
The massive bronze doors of the depository stood ajar, the biometric locks bypassed with military-grade precision.
Inside the marble rotunda, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and thermite.
Three Hawthorne private guards lay unconscious on the floor, their zip-tied wrists bound behind their backs.
Arthur knelt beside the senior guard, checking his neck for a pulse.
"Alive," Arthur muttered. "They didn't come to assassinate. They came to extract."
A sudden mechanical groan echoed from the subterranean levels below the grand lobby.
The three-foot-thick vault door, designed to withstand a direct nuclear strike, was slowly swinging open.
Arthur led his team down the winding marble staircase, their tactical lights cutting through the darkness.
Inside the primary vault room, safe deposit boxes had been ripped from the walls like loose bricks.
In the center of the vault stood a single woman wearing a dark tactical jumpsuit, her hair tied in a sleek ponytail.
Her back was turned to the doorway as she casually slipped a thick stack of faded dossiers into a leather satchel.
"Step away from the wall and put your hands on your head," Arthur commanded, aiming his weapon dead center at her back.
The woman didn't flinch.
She finished zipping the satchel, slowly turned around, and stepped into the beam of Arthur's flashlight.
Arthur's finger froze on the trigger.
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The face staring back at him was not a stranger, nor was it Clara.
It was Detective Marcus Vance’s lead forensic investigator, Dr. Evelyn Cross.
