Chapter 4 - The Traitor in the CourtyardThe trapped mercenaries panicked. We could hear their frantic shouts echoing through the sealed hallways as they slammed their rifle butts against the impenetrable steel shutters.
"Fall back to the courtyard! Blow the glass atrium!" Miller’s voice bellowed over the estate’s PA system—a system Claire had clearly managed to tap into.
"They're heading for the internal garden courtyard," I said, tracking their movement on the wall-mounted security console that Claire had reactivated. "If they breach the glass roof, they can drop explosives straight down into the family residential wing."
"Not if we close the storm shields," Claire replied, her fingers flying across the console interface. "Hit the master override button on the wall to your left while I lock down the perimeter."
I slammed my palm against the heavy red emergency switch. A loud, grinding mechanical groan echoed from above as thick, reinforced titanium hurricane shutters rolled over the massive glass atrium, sealing off the courtyard from the outside world and trapping the remaining mercenaries in the open-air garden.
"Now we flush them out," Claire said, grabbing a pair of tactical smoke canisters from her duffel.
"Wait," I said, catching her arm. Her skin was warm beneath my grip, and for a second, her slate-gray eyes locked onto mine with a vulnerability she had carefully kept hidden all evening. "Who are you, Claire? Really. Agencies don't send maids with black-ops training and tactical comms gear. Who sent you?"
Claire pulled her arm away gently, her expression hardening back into an impenetrable mask.
"Nobody sent me, Julian," she said softly, using my first name for the first time. "I applied for this job because six months ago, my little sister was killed in a crossfire during a syndicate turf war between your organization and the Vance cartel. The police closed the case. The Moretti family swept it under the rug. I came here to find out who gave the order."
My chest tightened as if I’d been struck with a physical blow. The ghosts of my past—the collateral damage of a ruthless criminal empire—were finally coming home to roost, standing right in front of me in a maid's uniform.
"And did you find him?" I asked, my voice dangerously low.
"I found a man who didn't know his own house was rotting from the inside," she said, holding my gaze. "A man whose daughters needed someone to stitch up their wounds while he was busy fighting wars in Miami. Let's finish this, Mr. Vale. Then you can decide whether to fire me."
Before I could answer, the heavy double doors of the courtyard burst open.
Miller, my former security chief, staggered into the hallway, his face smeared with soot, holding a detonator in one hand and a smoking pistol in the other. Behind him, three battered mercenaries raised their weapons.
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"Game over, Julian!" Miller screamed, his eyes wild with desperate fury. "You think you can lock us in? I’ve got enough C4 wired to the foundation to turn this entire mansion into a crater!"
Miller’s thumb hovered directly over the red trigger button of the dead-man's switch.
