Chapter 7 - THE RECKONING AT BLACKWOOD
We dragged Harrison down the corridor just as the steel blast doors slammed into the concrete floor with a deafening thud, missing Marcus’s heels by inches.
We tumbled back down into the open utility hatch, sliding Harrison down the iron ladder into the pitch-black vertical shaft.
"Move! Move! Move!" Marcus roared above us.
From the hallway above, heavy combat boots thundered against the concrete floor. Shouts and weapon charges echoed down through the shaft opening.
"THEY'RE IN THE DRAINAGE SHAFT! OPEN FIRE!" a man’s voice screamed.
FLASHOUT!
Muzzle flashes strobed through the dark opening above us as automatic gunfire erupted down the brick shaft. Bullets shattered brickwork and iron rungs, sending showers of hot red sparks and sharp concrete debris raining down on our heads.
"GET INTO THE PIPE!" I screamed, pulling Harrison by his leather belt into the narrow concrete drainage culvert.
Marcus scrambled down behind us, shoved the heavy iron hatch shut with his boots, and jammed a steel crowbar through the latch handles to lock it from the inside.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Heavy impacts hammered against the top of the steel hatch as security guards tried to blow the lock, but the heavy iron frame held.
We crawled through the dark, icy pipe as fast as our bleeding hands and knees could carry us, dragging Harrison between us. The damp air was freezing, but the adrenaline surging through my veins burned like liquid fire.
Ten minutes later, we burst out of the rusted mouth of the culvert into the rain-drenched, muddy ravine of Topanga Canyon.
The storm was at its peak. Wind roared through the towering eucalyptus trees, and rain washed the blood and soot from our faces as we pulled Harrison up the steep, slippery embankment.
Parked on the dirt shoulder of the canyon road, hidden beneath overhanging pine branches, was Marcus’s white plumbing van.
We shoved Harrison into the padded rear compartment, tumbled inside behind him, and Marcus slammed the heavy sliding door shut.
He jumped into the driver's seat, fired the engine, and slammed the van into gear, spinning tires through thick mud before bursting onto the paved canyon highway.
Inside the dark rear of the van, I collapsed onto the floor beside Harrison, breathing heavily, my entire body shaking with exhaustion.
Harrison lay on a thick wool blanket, staring up at the metal roof of the van. The cool rain air outside seemed to be slowly clearing the heavy chemical fog from his mind.
He turned his head slowly to look at me. Tears filled his hollow, sunken eyes, tracing clean lines through the dirt on his pale cheeks.
"Sarah..." he choked out, his voice raw with pure, unadulterated shame. "I spent three years... believing I was smart. Believing I was building an empire for us... and I gave it all away to a demon."
I took his weak, trembling hand in mine. His skin was ice-cold.
"Why didn't you send child support, Harrison?" I asked quietly, the question that had plagued my nights for three years finally spilling out. "Why did you abandon Chloe?"
Harrison squeezed my hand with all the strength left in his frail fingers.
"I did send it, Sarah," he sobbed quietly. "Every single month... I authorized fifty thousand dollars from my personal trust account to be wired directly to an escrow fund for you and Chloe. Victoria... she intercepted the transfers. She forged your signature on refusal documents... she made me believe you had moved to Europe and wanted nothing to do with my money..."
I stared at him, cold shock settling over me.
"She isolated me from day one," Harrison continued, his voice shaking violently. "She built a wall around me... and when I finally discovered she was draining the firm’s offshore accounts six months ago... she poisoned my food. She locked me away..."
I closed my eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath. The anger that had lived in my chest for three years—the belief that the man I had loved had simply thrown us away like trash—crumbled into dust, replaced by an overwhelming, protective fierceness.
"Where are the master servers, Harrison?" I asked, leaning closer to him. "Where is the evidence that proves Rachel Collins destroyed the real Victoria Sterling?"
Harrison looked up into my eyes, his dark pupils focusing with absolute clarity.
"In her private safe at the Sterling Global tower in downtown Los Angeles," Harrison said. "Floor 70. But you can't get in there, Sarah. It’s guarded by biometrics and encrypted security."
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From the front seat, Marcus looked back through the open partition, a cold, ruthless smile spreading across his face.
"She thinks we’re running away into the woods," Marcus said, turning the steering wheel sharply onto the I-10 Freeway toward downtown Los Angeles. "She doesn't expect us to hit her heart before the sun comes up."
