I backed away from the breached front door, my gaze fixed on Brenda and Evelyn, who stood framed against the dim hallway light. I moved fast, slamming the reinforced steel vault door shut behind me. The heavy deadbolt clicked into place with a satisfying thud.
“You can’t hide in there forever, Marcus!” Brenda yelled, her voice muffled by the thick door.
Evelyn, standing beside her, lifted a heavy pry-bar. It looked like something from a demolition crew, not a neighbor’s tool kit. She braced herself against the door frame.
“We just need to talk,” Evelyn added, but her grip on the pry-bar tightened.
The interior of my work room was stark, lit only by a single task light I kept powered by a backup battery. My fingers flew over a discreet panel built into the wall beside the vault door. It glowed with a faint, angry red LED.
A shiver ran down my spine. The red light wasn’t just a status indicator. It was active.
This specific deadbolt wasn’t just a physical barrier. It was integrated into a micro-circuit, a failsafe I’d designed to trigger if anyone attempted to breach it without my specific disarm sequence. A federal silent distress frequency.
Brenda swung the pry-bar, the metal shrieking against the steel frame of the vault door. The sound echoed, making the small room vibrate.
She thought she was just breaking into a private safe. She had no idea she was attacking a federally wired beacon.
I stared at the red light, a cold dread tightening in my gut. Brenda, in her rage, was unknowingly sending a distress signal straight to Agent Kincaid. The man who wanted my ledger, and my life.
Every wrench of the pry-bar against the door wasn’t just a breach. It was a countdown.
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