Chapter 5 - The Penthouse Trap
Julian stared at the horrifying video feed on the smartphone, his entire body trembling with absolute, blinding rage.
He realized Marcus and Vanessa had anticipated his survival and prepared a devastating backup plan to break his spirit.
"We cannot go to the parking garage anymore, Clara," Julian declared, his voice cold and devoid of all emotion.
Clara looked at the glowing screen and covered her mouth in shock, tears welling rapidly in her exhausted eyes.
"They are going to kill her if we do not surrender, Julian," she whispered in a panic.
Julian adamantly refused to let his innocent mother die because of his own massive wealth and terrible choice in a bride.
He turned away from the descending stairs and began sprinting aggressively upward toward the top floor of the hotel.
Clara followed closely behind him, her legs burning with exhaustion as they climbed forty grueling flights of concrete stairs.
They finally reached the heavy steel door labeled for roof access and the exclusive penthouse suites.
Julian kicked the door open with tremendous force, aiming the suppressed pistol directly down the luxurious, carpeted hallway.
The entire corridor was completely silent, adorned with expensive modern art and opulent crystal wall sconces.
They moved cautiously toward the grand double doors of the master suite, Julian's heart pounding furiously in his chest.
He placed his hand on the ornate brass handle, praying silently that he was not too late to save the woman who raised him.
He pushed the doors open and burst into the lavish living room, his weapon ready to fire at the masked mercenary.
The massive room was entirely empty, completely devoid of any mercenaries, assassins, or innocent hostages.
A single wooden chair sat in the center of the plush white carpet, but his mother was nowhere to be seen.
Julian walked slowly toward the chair, confusion and dread mixing violently in his racing mind.
Resting on the seat of the chair was a sleek, silver laptop, its screen glowing brightly in the dim room.
The live video feed of his mother was playing on a constant, pre-recorded loop, meaning she had never actually been in this room.
Clara suddenly screamed in sheer terror, pointing frantically at the massive structural pillar in the center of the suite.
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Strapped tightly to the expensive marble column was a highly sophisticated, military-grade chemical explosive.
The bright red digital timer on the bomb was rapidly ticking down, showing exactly two minutes remaining until total detonation.
