The Billionaire in the Scrapyard

Chapter 9: The Safe House

"Do not shoot him!"

I screamed from the dark sewer pipe, my raw throat tearing on the soot and cold water. 

The lawyer smiled down at Marcus. It was a thin, cruel smirk that belonged in a courtroom, not a burning pit. 

"Toss up the blue folder, Leo," the lawyer said, his silver revolver steady in his right hand. "You have five seconds. One. Two."

Marcus did not beg. He did not look afraid. His burned, blistered hands dug into the ash beside his hips. 

"Do not give him a damn page, kid," Marcus rasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his cracked lips. "Run the pipe. Get to the judge."

"Three," the lawyer counted, his finger tightening on the silver trigger.

From behind me in the dark tunnel, Evelyn reached past my shoulder. 

She wasn't holding a file. She was holding the heavy iron crowbar she had pulled from our smashed car trunk before we dropped into the pit. 

She did not hesitate. With a wild, desperate scream of pure rage, Evelyn lunged upward out of the drain opening and drove the pointed end of the iron bar straight into the lawyer's knee.

A sickening snap echoed over the roar of the fire.

The lawyer let out an ear-piercing shriek of agony, his leg folding sideways under him as his shot went wild into the ceiling. 

Marcus moved with the speed of an old street fighter. He grabbed the lawyer's wrist, slammed it against the concrete floor until the revolver skittered into the flames, and dragged the screaming man down into the pit by his silk necktie.

"Get in the hole, Marcus!" Evelyn cried, pulling on his jacket sleeve. "The roof is coming down!"

Marcus scrambled backward into the freezing pipe just as the entire wooden roof of the warehouse collapsed above the pit. A massive wave of fire, sparks, and heavy iron girders smashed into the opening, sealing the top of the drain beneath tons of flaming rubble.

The lawyer's screams were cut off instantly beneath the roar of falling stone.

We sat in the pitch-black water of the underground tunnel, gasping for breath, the icy sludge soaking into our clothes. 

"Is everyone breathing?" Marcus wheezed, holding his burned palms against his chest to keep them out of the filthy water.

"I am here," Evelyn said, her voice shaking violently as she leaned against the curved concrete wall.

I tried to answer, but my voice failed. My forehead was pressed against the cold, slimy pipe wall. The pain in my side was no longer a sharp stab; it was a deep, throbbing agony that made my stomach turn over. I vomited bile and dark blood into the running water, shivering so hard my teeth clicked together.

"Leo," Evelyn whispered, crawling through the darkness until her hands found my face. Her fingers were trembling. "Hold on to me. We are almost to the river outlet."

"The folder," I choked out, clutching the soaked blue leather under my coat. "Did it... did it burn?"

"It is dry," she said, her voice breaking with tears of relief. "You kept it dry, Leo. Now get up on your feet."

For forty agonizing minutes, we dragged ourselves through the waist-deep water of the old storm line. Every step felt like walking through wet cement. Marcus supported my right side with his broad shoulder, groaning quietly with every step as his burned skin rubbed against his rough jacket.

We finally tumbled out of the concrete drainage pipe onto the muddy banks of the northern river. 

The cold morning fog hung thick over the gray water. Across the street from the abandoned docks stood a row of old brick row houses. 

Evelyn led us up the back iron fire escape of the third building, her hands fumbling with a brass key until the heavy wooden door swung open.

Inside, the apartment was warm, quiet, and smelled of lavender and clean linen. 

Marcus collapsed onto the hardwood floor of the entryway, leaning his back against the wall with his eyes closed. Evelyn helped me onto a small sofa, gently unbuttoning my soaked, blood-stained shirt.

When she pulled the fabric away from my ribs, she let out a sharp, horrified gasp.

My entire left side was swollen purple and black. Two broken ribs were pressing dangerously against the pale skin, surrounded by a deep, jagged cut that was still leaking dark blood.

"You need a hospital," Evelyn said, tears spilling freely down her cheeks as she pressed a clean white towel against the wound. "You are going into shock, Leo. Your pulse is erratic."

"No hospitals," I whispered, grabbing her wrist with all the strength I had left in my cold fingers. "Richard... Richard has men at every emergency room. The moment my name hits the triage system, they will send officers to finish the job."

"Then what do we do?" she cried softly, looking down at my gray, sweating face. "You will bleed to death on this sofa before tomorrow morning!"

"Get the needle and fishing line from my tool pouch in my boot," Marcus said from the floor, his voice low, rough, and steady. "And pour that bottle of rubbing alcohol over my hands."

Evelyn swallowed hard, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve. She nodded, grabbed the kit, and knelt beside the couch.

The pain of Marcus stitching my side in the dim light of that small apartment was worse than anything I had ever felt in my life. I bit down on a rolled-up leather belt until my gums bled, tears streaming into my hair as the needle pulled the torn skin tight. 

I did not pass out. I refused to let the darkness take me. Every time the pain threatened to drown my mind, I pictured Richard Sterling’s cold, arrogant face at that dinner table, telling me I was a stray who owned nothing.

By noon, the bleeding had stopped. Marcus sat bandaged in the corner chair, sipping black coffee with his blistered hands wrapped in clean gauze.

Evelyn sat at her small kitchen table with her laptop open, the blue probate folder spread out beside a legal pad.

"The news is everywhere," Evelyn said, turning the laptop screen toward the couch.

On the television broadcast, Richard Sterling was standing on the steps of the municipal building, flanked by six lawyers and the city magistrate. 

"Leo Vance is an armed and dangerous fugitive," Richard announced to the crowd of reporters, his voice smooth, theatrical, and dripping with fake sorrow. "He stole military-grade financial software from our research labs and assaulted our security officers. The Sterling Global board has offered a one-million-dollar reward for his capture."

"He is trying to get someone to kill you in the street for the bounty," Marcus growled.

"Let him spend his money," I said, pushing myself up into a sitting position despite the fierce burning in my stitched side. "Evelyn, did the high court accept the digital filing?"

Evelyn looked at the laptop screen, a slow, cold smile spreading across her tired face.

"The filing went through at eleven-thirty, Leo," she said, holding up a printed legal notice bearing the gold seal of the State Supreme Court. "The Chief Judge just signed the emergency summons. Richard Sterling is legally ordered to appear in Courtroom 4B tomorrow morning at nine o'clock."

"And if he doesn't show up?" Marcus asked.

"If he does not appear with the original title deed to prove his ownership," Evelyn said, her eyes flashing with lethal confidence, "the court automatically declares full asset seizure of Sterling Global Tower."

I looked out the window at the distant glass skyscraper rising into the gray clouds.

"He will show up," I said softly, my voice cold and absolute. "And so will I.”