Chapter 8 - The Underworld Revolt
Beatrice sprinted through the labyrinthine basement corridors. The walkie-talkie she had stolen from Damian crackled to life.
"All units, the perimeter has been breached. I repeat, federal tactical teams are at the main gates. They have a warrant."
Beatrice’s heart soared. Elias Vance hadn't just published an article; he had mobilized the FBI. The feds were here.
But Arthur Sterling’s voice immediately cut over the radio frequency, dripping with madness. "Hold the gates! Do not let them in! Destroy the servers in the East Wing, and flood the basement! Leave no witnesses!"
Flood the basement.
The dining room where the fifty servants were being held captive was on the lower level, just above the utility sub-basement. If Arthur triggered the emergency flood protocols—designed to drown fires in the electrical grid—the heavy blast doors would seal, and everyone inside would drown. He was going to wipe out the entire staff to silence them.
Beatrice didn't run toward the upper floors to escape. She ran deeper into the dark.
She reached the grand dining room. Two private security contractors stood guard outside the heavy oak doors. Beatrice hid behind a marble bust of the Sterling patriarch. She couldn't fight them. She was a maid, not a soldier.
But she was a phantom. She knew the estate's flaws better than the men who owned it.
She crept toward the massive fuse box on the wall near the corridor's end. She opened the panel and, using a shard of glass still clinging to her sleeve from the wine bottle, severed the primary lighting cables for the lower quadrant.
The hallway plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
"What the hell?!" one of the guards shouted, the sound of assault rifles being unslung echoing in the dark. "Check the breaker!"
As the guards moved away from the doors, using the narrow beams of their flashlights to navigate the corridor, Beatrice slipped past them on silent velvet shoes. She inserted Damian’s master key into the dining room door, twisting it with a soft click, and pushed the doors open.
Inside, the servants were screaming as icy water began pouring from the heavy ventilation shafts in the ceiling. The flood protocol had been initiated.
"This way!" Beatrice shouted over the roar of the water, waving her arms. "Hurry!"
The terrified staff, seeing a way out, stampeded through the doors, rushing past Beatrice toward the emergency fire exits that led up to the ground floor. Beatrice stood by the door, making sure every single maid, chef, and butler made it out.
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The water was rising fast, soaking her velvet slippers, freezing her to the bone. As the last servant ran past her, Beatrice turned to follow.
But a heavy, wet hand grabbed her hair, jerking her violently backward.
