Chapter 6 - The Count to Midnight
"Upstairs," Vance commanded, his voice exploding with tactical authority.
Before Arthur’s guards could react to the sudden collapse of their plan, Vance moved.
He didn't draw a weapon; he used the sheer momentum of his two-hundred-pound frame. He slammed his shoulder into the chest of the guard holding the suppressed pistol, driving the man violently backward into the steel boiler casing. The sickening crunch of breaking ribs echoed off the concrete, and the gun clattered across the floor.
The second guard reached inside his coat, but Vance caught him by the wrist, twisted his arm with a brutal, sickening snap, and swept his legs out from under him. The man hit the ground hard, his head bouncing off the stone floor, knocked instantly unconscious.
Arthur backed away, trembling against the cold wall, his eyes wild with terror. "Serena... please. You don't understand..."
"I understand triage, Arthur," I said coldly, snatching Vance's pistol from the floor and handing it back to him. "And right now, you're non-viable."
We left Arthur and Fiona cowering in the sulfur-smelling basement and sprinted toward the service stairs.
Running while eight months pregnant is an exercise in pure agony. Every stride sent a sharp, shooting pain through my lower spine, my lungs burning as I dragged air into my chest. But adrenaline is a miraculous drug. It numbed the pain in my bare feet as I took the concrete stairs two at a time, Vance keeping his hand firmly against my back, physically propelling me upward.
We burst through the hidden tapestry door back into the grand hallway.
The contrast was surreal.
The ballroom was bathed in warm, golden light. Sixty guests were gathered in a loose semicircle around the thirty-foot Christmas tree. Matthias stood at the center, holding a crystal flute in one hand and a wireless microphone in the other. He looked dazzling, handsome, and entirely oblivious to the fact that he was standing on a bomb his father had built for him.
Beside him stood Eleanor, smiling her practiced, plastic society smile, basking in the admiration of Greenwich's elite.
"...and so," Matthias was saying into the microphone, his voice smooth, charismatic, echoing through the ballroom speakers, "as we look toward the new year, and the finalization of the Hensley partnership, my family wants to thank each and every one of you for being our bedrock."
"Vance," I panted, leaning heavily against the archway. "The master breaker. Where is it?"
"Behind the coatroom in the west foyer," Vance said, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Main breaker panel for the entire estate grid. If I kill the master feed, it will sever the power to the Christmas tree relay and buy us time before the furnace sparks."
"Go," I urged. "I'll get them out."
"Serena—"
"Go!"
Vance vanished down the hallway toward the west wing.
I stepped onto the polished parquet floor of the ballroom. My burgundy dress was rumpled, my hair was escaping its pins, and my bare feet were smudged with basement grime and soot.
A few guests near the back row turned and noticed me. Whispers immediately began to ripple through the crowd.
Look at her. Is she unwell? Where are her shoes?
Matthias was raising his glass. "To family. To legacy. And to the next generation."
"Matthias!"
My voice didn't carry the polite restraint of a society wife. It was the raw, commanding bellow of a trauma nurse clearing a crowded hallway for a crashing gurney. It cut through the room like a siren.
The entire ballroom went dead silent.
Matthias lowered his glass, his smile freezing into a mask of pure irritation and embarrassment. "Serena? What are you doing? We're in the middle of a toast."
Eleanor glared at me, her cheeks flushing crimson with mortification. "Serena, put some shoes on and go upstairs. You are embarrassing this family."
I didn't stop. I walked straight down the center aisle, between the rows of billionaires, senators, and socialites, until I was standing five feet from my husband.
The smell of gas had begun to seep through the brass floor registers. Faint. Subtle. But undeniable.
"Everyone needs to leave this house right now," I said clearly, looking around the room. "Do not get your coats. Do not wait for your cars. Walk out the front doors immediately."
A stunned silence hung in the air.
Then, someone chuckled nervously.
"Serena," Matthias said through clenched teeth, his eyes burning with fury as he lowered the microphone. He took two quick strides toward me and grabbed my upper arm with bruising force. "Have you lost your goddamn mind? You are humiliating me in front of the entire board. What the hell is wrong with you?"
I looked down at his hand on my arm. Then I looked up into the eyes of the man I had loved for nearly a decade.
"Your father set you up, Matthias," I whispered.
He blinked, thrown off balance. "What?"
"The New Haven trips. Fiona. The Hensley short position," I said, every word hitting him like a physical blow. "Fiona works for your father. She’s been feeding you bad data to force your company into insolvency. And right now, there's a magnetic bypass on the main gas line directly beneath this floor, wired to blow when the clock strikes twelve."
Matthias’s grip loosened. His face cycled through confusion, denial, and arrogance. "You're delusional. You're having some kind of hormonal breakdown—"
Suddenly, the floor beneath our feet gave a low, violent shudder.
From the heating vents, a distinct, terrifying hiss began to fill the room, accompanied by the overwhelming stench of rotten eggs.
The crowd panicked.
A woman in the third row shrieked, dropping her wine glass. It shattered on the hardwood.
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"What is that smell?" Senator Caldwell demanded, stepping backward. "Is that gas?"
"Get out!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Run!"
