Chapter 7 - The Voice from the Past
The blaring sirens echoed painfully in Grant’s ears as thick smoke began drifting down the corridor.
"That explosion came from the security command center," Grant quickly deduced.
Someone was intentionally disabling the mansion's camera feeds and electronic locks.
"They are going to use the chaos to smuggle Lucy out of the house," Hannah cried in panic.
"No," Grant said firmly, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the hallway.
"Daniel is arrogant, and he will keep her close to use as leverage against you."
Grant led them toward the restricted East Wing, an area completely off-limits to the staff.
His vision was slowly adapting to the flashing red emergency lights, turning the world into a series of bloody, moving shapes.
They crept past two heavily armed guards who were rushing toward the burning security center.
Grant guided Hannah into the massive, empty ballroom, hiding behind a thick marble pillar.
Through the chaos, Grant’s incredibly sharp hearing picked up a tiny, muffled whimper coming from the adjoining office.
"She is in there," Grant whispered, pointing toward the heavy wooden doors.
He moved silently across the ballroom, pressing his ear directly against the smooth wood of the office door.
Daniel’s angry voice was speaking loudly on a phone inside.
"The doctor said the kid found the picture, which means the maid knows too much," Daniel growled into the receiver.
Grant gripped his pistol tight, ready to breach the door and kill his traitorous lieutenant.
But Daniel's next sentence froze the blood completely in Grant's veins.
"Yes, I know keeping the little girl alive is a massive risk," Daniel argued with whoever was on the phone.
"But we need her to control Hannah, just like we used Emma to control Arthur five years ago."
Grant stopped breathing entirely.
He looked back at Hannah, whose blurry face was a picture of pure, unadulterated shock.
"Are you absolutely sure Emma is still secure at the warehouse?" Daniel asked the caller.
Grant felt a tear slip down his cheek as the impossible reality crashed into him.
His daughter, Emma, had not died in the car explosion at Pier 17.
She was alive, and she had been a prisoner of the Black Serpent family for five agonizing years.
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Before Grant could kick the door open, a cold, hard gun barrel was pressed firmly against the back of his head.
"Drop the weapon, boss," Dr. Hale whispered sadistically into Grant's ear.
