Chapter 9 - The Siege of Sterling Tower
Down in the lobby, emergency sirens began to blare.
The building’s backup generators kicked in, casting a sinister red emergency glow across the expansive penthouse office.
"Claire, we need to get you to the panic room immediately," Arthur said, reaching for his cane, which concealed a heavy-caliber defensive firearm.
"The panic room on the lower floor is automated, Arthur," Claire said, remaining completely calm despite her racing heart. "If they cut the primary power grid, the hydraulic doors down there are locked in place. The safest place is right here."
"They're coming up the private express elevator," Maya Lin’s frantic voice came through Arthur's earpiece. "The mercenary team bypassed the basement security protocols! They have heavy military breaching gear! They're ninety seconds away!"
Claire looked around her father's executive suite.
Grant thought he was ambushing a helpless pregnant woman in the dark. He thought that by bringing hired guns, he could force her to sign over the trust assets at gunpoint before fleeing the country.
He forgot one crucial fact: Claire had designed the security infrastructure of Sterling Tower herself three years ago.
Claire walked over to her father’s grand oak desk. She reached underneath the left drawer, pressing a physical silver toggle switch that operated on an isolated, un-hackable analog battery.
A hidden compartment in the bookcase behind her slid open with a soft metallic click.
Inside was not a weapon, but a sleek carbon-fiber control panel with a single biometric hand scanner.
"Arthur," Claire said smoothly. "Lock the secondary reinforcement doors to the penthouse landing."
"Done," Arthur said, pressing the physical floor deadbolts into place just as heavy, iron boots pounded up the marble staircase outside.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Heavy battering rams slammed against the outer reinforced double doors of the penthouse. The metal frame groaned under the sheer force, dust raining down from the ceiling.
"Claire!" Grant’s crazed voice roared from the other side of the door. "Open the door and sign the asset release forms, or my men will blow this entire floor to hell! You have thirty seconds!"
Claire stepped up to the carbon-fiber panel and pressed her palm against the glass scanner.
BIOMETRIC VERIFIED: CLAIRE MERCER (MASTER OVERRIDE ACTIVE)
"Grant," Claire spoke into the wall intercom, her voice crystal clear, echoing sharply in the hallway outside. "You always were terrible at tactical math."
"What are you talking about?!" Grant screamed through the door. "I have six armed mercenaries with me! You have an old man and a desk!"
"I don't need weapons, Grant," Claire replied softly. "I have the building’s atmospheric containment system."
Claire flipped a red toggle on the analog panel.
Outside in the executive hallway, heavy airtight steel shutters slammed down from the ceiling, trapping Grant, Eleanor, and their six hired mercenaries in a ten-by-ten sealed airlock chamber.
Before the mercenaries could even raise their rifles to shoot out the glass, a heavy white cloud of non-lethal, high-density neural incapacitating gas flooded the airlock from high-pressure valves.
"What is this?! SHOOT THE DOOR! SHOOT THE—" Grant’s voice cut off into violent coughing.
Through the reinforced glass viewing window, Claire and Arthur watched as the six imposing mercenaries dropped their weapons, clawing at their throats before collapsing unconscious onto the floor one by one.
Grant fell to his knees, his eyes wide with utter shock as his mother slumped uselessly against the wall beside him.
He stared through the glass at Claire.
Claire stood under the red emergency lights, her hand resting on her stomach, looking down at him with absolute, unyielding coldness.
Grant tried to reach out a hand toward the glass, his lips moving wordlessly, begging for air, begging for mercy.
Claire didn't blink.
Ten seconds later, Grant Mercer hit the floor, completely unconscious.
A few moments later, the heavy thud of SWAT team boots echoed up the secondary stairwell as federal agents and Chicago tactical police burst onto the floor, weapons drawn.
The commander took one look at the unconscious fugitives trapped inside the sealed chamber, then looked at Claire, lowering his rifle in sheer awe.
"Mrs. Mercer," the SWAT Commander said, taking off his helmet. "Are you alright?"
Claire smoothed down her dress and gave a gentle, polite smile.
May you like
"I'm wonderful, Commander," Claire said softly, feeling a sudden, sharp contraction ripple across her stomach. She braced herself against her desk, letting out a breath.
"Arthur," Claire whispered, her smile turning warm. "Call the hospital. It's time."
