Sign custody of Lily over to me, or your daughter goes to prison,” Marcus warned, sliding forged papers across the table. I pretended my hands were shaking from fear

Marcus crawled through the broken concrete gap, his expensive suit now ruined, covered in wet gray sludge and dirt. In his right hand, he held a dark polymer pistol, his hand shaking uncontrollably as he aimed it at my chest.

Behind him came two heavy-set men in tactical gear—Vale’s private security contractors, carrying silenced carbines.

"I knew you'd come here," Marcus panted, his breath white in the cold vault air. "I knew you couldn't resist playing the hero for your precious little girl."

"You sold out your own sister, Marcus," I said, stepping slowly between him and the vault contents, my hands raised to shoulder height. "Your mother would turn in her grave if she saw what you’ve become."

"Don't speak about my mother!" Marcus screamed, his voice cracking against the iron walls. "She died with nothing while you sat in your stupid little shop, cutting ten-cent keys and talking about 'integrity'! Grant Vale gave me real power! He gave me a seat at the table!"

"He gave you a leash, Marcus," I corrected softly. "And when this fall comes, you're the one he's going to choke with it."

"Shut up!" Marcus stepped forward, pointing the gun straight at my head. "Give me the hard drive and the books. Give them to me now, and maybe—maybe—I let Vale keep you in the same cell as Claire."

My eyes flicked to the ceiling above Marcus's head.

Directly above the entryway of Vault 417 sat the primary pneumatic relief valve—a massive, fifty-pound cast-iron pressure release hatch I had installed to equalize air pressure in the vault during seasonal river floods. It was secured by a quick-release lever tied directly to the vault's master mechanical override on the wall behind me.

"You always were bad at reading blueprints, Marcus," I said.

My right hand dropped to the emergency mechanical lever beside the vault doorframe and pulled it down with all my weight.

CLANG!

The pneumatic relief latch tripped. A blast of compressed air and fifty gallons of trapped rainwater from the storm drainage pipe directly above plummeted through the ceiling hatch, slamming into Marcus and his two guards with the force of a flash flood.

Marcus was knocked off his feet, his gun clattering across the wet iron floor. The two guards were thrown backward into the narrow crawlspace, choked by water and falling debris.

I snatched Marcus's pistol off the floor, racked the slide, and pointed it at his drenched, shivering frame as he sputtered in the mud.

"Where is Facility Delta?" I demanded, my voice dropping to a register of sheer cold iron.

"Go to hell!" Marcus spat, wiping mud from his eyes.

I stepped forward and pressed the hot barrel of the gun against his forehead. "I have spent fifty years studying how things break, Marcus. Locks, doors, steel, and men. Tell me where my daughter is, or I leave you locked inside this vault. The concrete seal is broken. In twenty minutes, the river level will rise six feet. No one will hear you scream."

Marcus looked at my eyes. He didn't see an old locksmith anymore. He saw the cold, unforgiving reality of a man protecting his child.

His resolve broke completely. "The railyard!" he sobbed, his hands flying up to cover his face. "Building 9! The old cold-storage warehouse at the rear of the railyard! She's in the sub-basement! Vale is moving her out of the state at 4:00 AM!"

I grabbed a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from the belt of one of the stunned guards, pulled Marcus's hands behind his back, and locked him securely to the reinforced iron handle of the inner vault door.

"You wanted a seat at the table, Marcus," I said, slinging my canvas kit over my shoulder. "Enjoy the room."