Chapter 703
Chapter 703:
“It’s welded shut from the inside,” Liam pointed out. “Parker mentioned it once. He tried to use it to sneak out to a LAN party p>
“Welded, yes,” Alistair said, pulling a specialized thermal cutter from his trunk. “But not for us p>
Meanwhile, inside the attic.
Parker sat on the dusty floor, clutching an old leather-bound book. His grandfather’s diary.
He had found it hidden under a loose floorboard.
He read the entry again, his hands shaking.
July 14, 1985. The Syndicate is formed. We call ourselves the Keepers. We keep the gates. We keep the flow. We keep the power.
“Keepers,” Parker whispered. “K-Syndicate p>
It wasn’t a criminal gang. It was a cabal of the city’s founding families. And his father was one of the leaders.
The attic door creaked open.
Parker slammed the book shut and shoved it behind his back.
Mr. Hayes stood in the doorway. He held a tray of food.
“You’re quiet,” Mr. Hayes said. “Unusual for you p>
“Just thinking, Dad,” Parker said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Mr. Hayes walked over. He set the tray down. Then he reached behind Parker and pulled out the diary.
Parker froze.
“Grandfather was a sentimental fool,” Mr. Hayes said, looking at the book with disdain. “He wrote everything down p>
“Is it true?” Parker asked, tears welling in his eyes. “Are we… are we the bad guys p>
Mr. Hayes sighed. He looked almost sad. “There are no bad guys, Parker. Only winners and losers. And we are winners p>
𝗡a𝘃і𝘨𝘢te 𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗅𝘆 о𝗇 𝖻𝖾.co𝗺
He turned to the door. “Guards. Take him to the wine cellar. The attic isn’t secure enough. He’s too close to the window p>
“Dad, no!” Parker screamed as two men grabbed him.
The wine cellar? Parker thought, panic rising. That’s a vault. No windows. No signal.
Outside, in the bushes.
“They’re moving him,” Alistair whispered, lowering his binoculars. “Heading to the basement p>
“That complicates things,” Liam said. “If he’s in the cellar, he’s right next to where we’re breaching p>
“No,” I said, zipping up my tactical vest. “It simplifies them. If we time this right, we cut the chute open just as they throw him in p>
I looked at the looming house. The bell tower stood silhouetted against the moon, a silent sentinel of a century of secrets.
“Tonight,” I said, “we break the K-Syndicate p>
We moved into the darkness. The hunt was on.
The blue flame of the thermal cutter hissed violently against the night, spitting a cascade of orange sparks that illuminated Alistair’s focused grimace. The smell of melting iron mixed with the damp earthiness of the garden. With a final, groaning snap, the heavy welds on the coal chute door gave way.