Chapter 55 - Hannah’s Voice on the Wire
Above us, the iron hatch collapsed inward with a deafening crash, hitting the terrazzo floor with the force of an artillery shell.
Through the hole dropped three canisters. Thick, choking gray smoke immediately blossomed into the air, hissing violently.
"Gas!" Julian yelled, pulling his coat up over his nose and mouth, grabbing my collar to drag me toward the rear corridor behind the shelves. "Run!"
Suddenly, the PA system mounted above the desk crackled to life with high feedback. But it wasn't the voice of Arthur Vance that echoed through the subterranean chamber.
It was a woman’s voice—shrill, petulant, and dripping with malicious delight.
"Clara? Are you down there, big sister?"
Hannah.
Julian and I halted in the mouth of the narrow concrete escape tunnel behind the filing cabinets. The smoke was already rolling across the floor, white and dense. Through the hatch opening above, heavy combat boots began to slide down rappelling ropes into the smoke.
"Did you really think you were the smart one, Clara?" Hannah’s voice purred over the loudspeakers, accompanied by the clink of a champagne glass somewhere on the audio feed. "You were the draft horse. Mom and Dad hated you because every time they looked at you, they saw your grandfather’s tight-fisted little bookkeeper. Did you honestly believe I had a meltdown on your twenty-fifth birthday?"
May you like
She laughed, a manic, high-pitched peel that grated on my raw nerves.
"I needed you out of the house, idiot. The audit team couldn't come in with you sitting in your bedroom counting pennies. You left your house key on the pillow like some tragic heroine... and you gave us the run of the place!"
