Chapter 8 - The Escape in the Storm
The sudden roar of the fire system sent the two security men staggering back as blinding streams of water hit their eyes.
"Grab her!" Evelyn screamed above the howling sirens, her hair instantly plastering against her face as the deluge soaked her expensive coat.
Rachel didn't wait. She ducked low, lunging to her right behind a thick marble column as one of the guards lunged for her coat. She kicked off her wet winter boots, sprinting barefoot across the slick marble floor toward the heavy iron gate leading to the building's maintenance sub-basement.
Julian lunged through the spray, grabbing the edge of her coat.
Rachel whipped around, unbuttoning the coat in a single fluid motion and slipping out of it, leaving Julian holding the empty wet wool as she sprinted through the open maintenance door and slammed it shut, throwing the heavy brass deadbolt into place.
The thick iron door rattled violently as the guards threw their shoulders against it from the lobby side, but the nineteenth-century iron held firm.
Rachel stood in her socks on the cold concrete floor of the service corridor, her breath coming in wild, ragged gasps. She was shivering uncontrollably, soaked from the sprinklers, but the flash drives and David's letter were safe—she had tucked them into her inner sweater pocket before hitting the alarm.
She ran down the dark corridor, following the green overhead exit signs toward the alley door.
The maintenance corridor opened out into the narrow service alley behind Dearborn Street. The blizzard hit her like a wall of white ice, the howling wind whipping snow across her face as her wet socks gripped the frozen asphalt.
She ran down the alley, ducking behind dumpster bins as she reached the main street.
Across the intersection, the flashing red and blue lights of three police cruisers were already screaming toward the Old Colony Building in response to the fire alarm.
Rachel ducked into an underground subway entrance, her feet completely numb, sliding down the concrete stairs into the warm, noisy interior of the Jackson Street station.
She pulled out her phone with blue, shaking fingers. The screen was cracked and wet, but it still worked.
She opened her contacts and dialed Marcus's number.
He answered on the first ring. "Rachel! Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you—"
"Marcus..." Rachel gasped, leaning her shoulder against the tiled subway wall as commuters stared at her barefoot, soaked appearance. "I have the drives. Evelyn Vance was waiting at the vault... she tried to take them."
"Are you hurt?" Marcus demanded, his voice sharp with alarm.
"No. I set off the fire alarm... I made it to the subway station at Jackson," she stammered, her teeth chattering so hard she could barely articulate the words. "Marcus... David's letter gave me a name. Assistant U.S. Attorney Marcus Vance."
There was a long, absolute silence on the line.
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When Marcus spoke again, his voice was entirely different—devoid of his casual guard persona, replaced by a deep, authoritative gravity that made Rachel's breath catch in her throat.
"Stay right where you are, Rachel," Marcus said softly. "I'm coming to pick you up. Thomas Vance was my father."
