Chapter 10 - The Storming of the Bastille
We reached the heavy metal door of the stairwell just as two armed security guards turned the corner at the far end of the hallway.
"Stop right there!" one of them shouted, drawing his weapon.
I shoved my father through the stairwell door, slamming it shut behind us. I grabbed a heavy metal janitor's cart nearby and wedged it under the door handle, jamming it tight.
"Down, Dad! Quick!"
We scrambled down the concrete stairs, my father's weak steps echoing in the narrow shaft. Behind us, we could hear the guards slamming against the jammed door above.
We reached the ground floor, exiting into the rainy night through a side fire door. The cold rain hit us like a shock, instantly clearing the fog from my father's eyes.
"Finnley! Over here!"
Maya's sedan roared up the gravel path, the tires sliding on the wet mud. She threw the passenger door open.
I helped my father into the back seat, diving in after him as a guard emerged from the main entrance, firing a shot into the air.
"Go!" I screamed.
Maya slammed the car into reverse, spinning the wheel, and tore down the driveway. The iron gate was closing, but she didn't slow down. The front bumper of her sedan smashed through the wooden barrier of the security kiosk, sending splinters flying into the dark as we roared out onto the public highway, leaving the sanitarium behind in the dust.
In the back seat, my father held my hand, his grip surprisingly tight.
"The ledger..." he whispered, his voice gaining strength with every mile we put between us and that hellhole. "Did you find it?"
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"I have it, Dad," I said, showing him the backpack. "And we have the offshore accounts. We have everything."
"Then it's time to end this," Camden Dennis said, his eyes burning with the determination of a man who had survived the grave. "The annual Dennis Logistics gala is tonight. Reagan and Vance will be there, celebrating their victory. Let's give them a real show."
