Chapter 6 - Locked Out of Heaven
Chad sprinted down the narrow, dimly lit service corridor behind the ballroom, his polished dress shoes sliding against the greasy red quarry tiles of the industrial kitchen. Kitchen staff in white aprons pressed themselves against the stainless-steel prep tables, wide-eyed, as the frantic CEO barreled past them like a madman.
“Out of my way!” Chad roared, knocking over a rack of cooling sheet pans that clattered violently against the floor.
His heart was hammering against his ribs like a sledgehammer. His lungs burned. The expensive silk tuxedo shirt was soaked in cold, rancid sweat. *How could this happen?* Everything had been calculated down to the millimeter. Ethan was supposed to be a broken invalid, rotting away in a high-rise, paralyzed by depression and spinal trauma. He wasn't supposed to walk. He wasn't supposed to hire forensic auditors.
He reached the heavy commercial fire door at the end of the prep kitchen. He threw his shoulder against the panic bar.
The bar gave way with a heavy metallic clunk, and Chad spilled out into the rear delivery alcove.
Outside, the rain had started, coming down in cold, driving sheets that soaked through his tuxedo jacket in seconds. The smell of wet asphalt and crushed pine needles filled his nose. Ten yards ahead was the heavy brass security gate that opened onto the secluded staff parking lot.
Beyond that gate sat his backup plan: a black Audi S8, idling silently in the shadows, its glove compartment packed with two hundred thousand dollars in cash and a clean passport under an alias he had paid half a million dollars to secure in Prague.
Chad lunged toward the heavy gate, his hand reaching out for the massive brass handle. He grabbed it, grunting with exertion, and threw his entire body weight backward to yank the door open.
It didn't budge.
“What? No!” Chad yelled, slamming his shoulder against the reinforced metal frame.
He grabbed the lever again, wrenching it up and down violently. The lock held fast. Looking closer through the rain-streaked reinforced glass, he saw the reason why: a massive, hardened steel deadbolt was engaged from the exterior side, secured by a heavy electronic padlock with a glowing red LED light blinking mocking defiance in the dark.
“No! Open the door! OPEN IT!” he screamed, kicking the iron panel with his dress shoe, the impact sending a jarring shockwave through his heel.
Behind him, the heavy service door swung open.
The beam of a high-powered flashlight cut through the rain, pinning Chad against the locked gate like a deer caught in high beams.
Step by step, two figures emerged into the dimly lit alcove.
Ethan stood tall under the shelter of the overhang, Isabella by his side holding a large black umbrella over them both. Behind them, through the kitchen doorway, four federal marshals strode forward, their hands resting on their sidearms, their badges gleaming beneath the harsh exterior floodlights.
Chad pressed his back hard against the cold, unyielding brass door, panting heavily, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. He looked at Ethan—really looked at him—standing solid, upright, completely untroubled by the storm.
“You...” Chad wheezed, his voice cracking. “You locked it.”
May you like
“I didn't lock it, Chad,” Ethan said, his voice quiet, calm, and devastatingly cold. “This entire property was deeded back to my family's foundation yesterday morning when your emergency bridge loan defaulted. You’re trespassing on my land. And you’re out of exits.”
At the front of the driveway, the police sirens suddenly cut out, replaced by the heavy, ominous thud of car doors slamming shut in unison.
