Chapter 4 - The Blackout
My breath hitched. Our father, Richard Bennett, had died six months ago in a sudden, unexplained house fire. He had been a senior software architect for Vance Global Defense, a massive corporate titan specializing in cyber warfare and tactical intelligence. The police had ruled his death an accident—an electrical short in his basement workshop.
But sitting in that hallway, listening to the rain beat against the glass, the terrible truth slammed into me: my father hadn’t died in an accident. He had been murdered.
“Dad left something behind, didn’t he?” I whispered, grabbing Marcus’s coat sleeve.
“Three days before the fire, Dad gave you a safe deposit box key,” Marcus said, his voice dropping into a barely audible rasp. “He told you not to open it unless something happened to him. Did you ever go to the bank, Clara?”
“No!” I stammered, tears pricking my eyes. “I was too broken after the funeral! I left the key in my lockbox at home!”
Before Marcus could answer, the grand crystal chandeliers overhead flickered once, twice, and plunged the entire hotel into pitch blackness.
Screams echoed from the ballroom—at first lighthearted laughter from guests assuming it was a minor fuse blowing, but quickly escalating as the venue’s emergency backup lights failed to click on. The music cut mid-note, replaced by the terrifying sound of shuffling feet, breaking glass, and gasps of confusion.
“Clara, stay behind me!” Marcus barked, his hand dropping instinctively to his waistband where he carried his concealed sidearm.
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In the pitch dark, my phone screen illuminated with another incoming message.
Unknown Number: Five minutes, Clara. Bring the flash drive from your father’s estate, or Rose doesn’t leave this building alive.
