The Billionaire in the Scrapyard

Chapter 8: The Fire Trap

"Hold on to something!"

Evelyn spun the steering wheel hard to the right. The sedan jumped the concrete curb, tires shrieking as we smashed through a rusted chain-link fence into the lower industrial freight yard. 

My head slammed against the window glass. The pain in my cracked ribs flared like a hot iron rod being twisted into my side. I cried out, doubling over, my hands clutching my soaked shirt as the dark blood seeped through my fingers.

"Leo, stay down!" Marcus yelled from the front seat, racking the bolt of his heavy rifle. "Keep your head below the headrest!"

Behind us, two of the black police cruisers smashed through the same broken fence. Gunfire erupted immediately. Heavy bullets ripped through the rear windshield of our car, spraying sharp glass pebbles across my back and hair.

"They are not trying to pull us over!" Evelyn shouted, fighting the shaking wheel as the sedan fishtailed through deep muddy ruts between towering stacks of rusted shipping containers. "They are firing straight into the cabin!"

"Richard bought the whole precinct on the north side," Marcus growled. "Cut down through Alley Four! The old foundry gate is made of solid steel. If we make it inside, they cannot ram us with the cruisers!"

Evelyn slammed her foot onto the accelerator. The engine roared, spraying thick black mud behind us as we tore down the narrow corridor of containers. 

Up ahead, the massive iron gates of the abandoned foundry stood half-open. 

A third black cruiser suddenly swung out from behind a stack of steel beams, blocking the narrow exit completely. 

"Evelyn, stop!" I gasped, coughing up a spatter of blood onto my knees. "You will kill us all!"

"I am not stopping for Richard's dogs!" she screamed back.

Instead of hitting the brakes, Evelyn gripped the wheel with white knuckles and rammed our front bumper straight into the cruiser’s rear quarter-panel. 

The deafening crunch of crushing metal echoed between the steel walls. The blocking cruiser spun violently across the wet mud, its tires losing traction as it slammed sideways into a stack of concrete pipes. 

Our sedan shot through the narrow opening, scraping both sides against the iron gates with a high, ear-splitting screech, before sliding to a hard stop inside the dark, cavernous warehouse.

Marcus kicked his door open instantly. 

"Out! Everybody out right now!"

Evelyn scrambled out of the driver's seat and rushed to the back door, yanking it open. She grabbed me under my arms, pulling my dead weight onto the cold concrete floor. 

I couldn't stand. My legs felt like wet sand. Every breath sounded like a broken bellows wheezing in my chest. 

"I cannot... Evelyn, I cannot make it," I whispered, tears of pure helplessness mixing with the sweat and blood on my face. "Leave the folder. Just take Marcus and run."

"Shut up, Leo!" Evelyn snapped, her voice breaking with real, furious tears as she dragged me toward a concrete inspection pit in the middle of the floor. "I did not spend six years waiting for this day just to watch you give up in a ditch! Move your feet!"

Marcus took my other arm, lifting most of my weight with his massive shoulders. Together, they lowered me down into the shallow mechanic's pit beneath the floorboards.

Outside the broken gates, multiple car doors slammed shut. Heavy boots splashed rapidly through the mud.

"Search the perimeter!" a voice barked in the rain. "The magistrate wants no survivors! Burn the whole warehouse to the ground!"

A glass bottle shattered against the wooden roof rafters above our heads. 

The unmistakable, sharp smell of gasoline filled the damp air. A second later, a brilliant orange flare arced through the broken doorway.

*WHOOSH.*

A wall of roaring orange fire erupted across the wooden rafters, spreading rapidly along the dry timber beams. Thick, black smoke rolled downward, choking the air and turning the warehouse into a blazing furnace within seconds.

"They are torching the roof!" Marcus coughed, pulling his jacket over his mouth and nose. 

The heat pressed down on us like a physical weight. Burning embers and pieces of charred timber began raining down onto the concrete floor around our pit.

I lay in the dark corner of the pit, clutching the blue probate folder tight against my bleeding chest. Through the heavy smoke above, I saw the silhouette of a man in a black tactical vest step into the burning doorway, raising an automatic rifle.

Marcus leveled his hunting rifle over the concrete lip of the pit. 

*BANG.*

The gunshot ripped through the roar of the flames. The shooter outside collapsed backward into the fire with a short yell. 

Before Marcus could pull the bolt back to chamber another round, a heavy, burning ceiling beam snapped overhead with a loud crack.

"Marcus, look out!" I screamed.

The flaming wooden beam crashed down directly across the top of the pit. 

Marcus threw his hands up, catching the burning timber to keep it from crushing Evelyn and me. The raw fire seared into the palms of his hands, his skin blistering instantly, but he did not drop it. He gritted his teeth, veins bulging in his neck, roaring in pure agony as he shoved the flaming beam off to the side.

"Marcus!" Evelyn cried out, reaching for his burned hands.

"I am fine!" Marcus wheezed, collapsing against the concrete wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "The fire is cutting off the main door. We cannot go back up."

I looked at the back wall of the mechanic's pit. 

Beneath a layer of rusted metal plates, a small iron storm drain hatch was set into the foundation, half-buried under grease and gravel. 

"There," I croaked, pointing a trembling hand at the round iron cover. "Arthur's old stormwater line. It runs beneath the rail tracks straight to the river docks."

Marcus grabbed the edge of the iron grate with his blistered hands, ignoring the pain, and yanked it open with a desperate heave. A blast of cold, damp air rushed up from the dark concrete tunnel below.

"Get in, kid," Marcus coughed, pushing me toward the opening. "Evelyn, go first!"

Evelyn dropped into the narrow sewer line, reaching up to catch me as Marcus lowered my shaking body down into the freezing, ankle-deep water. 

Before Marcus could climb down behind us, a dark figure dropped into the burning pit from above. 

A heavy boot slammed directly into Marcus’s shoulder, knocking the older man flat on his back against the burning floorboards. 

Standing over him, completely unbothered by the smoke and heat, was Richard Sterling's personal lawyer, holding a silver revolver aimed straight between Marcus's eyes.

"Hand over the Vance file from that hole, old man," the lawyer said calmly, cocking the hammer. "Or I blow your skull open and drop a grenade down the drain.”