My Son Let His Pregnant Wife Tell Me to Leave the Four-Bedroom Home I OWNED—They Thought I’d Keep Paying Their Bills Until the Baby Arrived, but They Had No Idea What I Was About to Cut Off First. / Chapter 45 / 70

Chapter 45 - The Basement Bastion

The diamond drill screeched to a halt with an ear-splitting mechanical whine, followed by a curse in French.

"It is no use," a mercenary’s voice echoed through the basement. "The outer casing of the hearth mantle isn't structural concrete. It is carbon-alloy ballistic plating anchored directly into the granite bedrock. We’ve burnt through three drill bits. We need the physical keycard and the acoustic cipher."

Marcus edged toward the slit between the wooden partition slats. He held up three fingers to indicate three hostiles in the basement room.

I leaned closer, observing the scene through the gap.

The basement I had kept immaculate for thirty years—where shelves of peach preserves and David’s childhood baseball trophies used to sit—had been converted into a tactical command post. Heavy battery packs, server monitors, and pneumatic jacks crowded the concrete floor.

At the center stood the exposed bedrock beneath my brick hearth. The false brick facade had been hammered away, revealing a circular vault hatch engraved with the interlocking crest of Saint Jude and a Miller family seal.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps descended the wooden stairs from the kitchen.

A tall man in a tailored charcoal overcoat stepped onto the concrete, shaking droplets of rain from an expensive cashmere scarf. He carried an umbrella and a gold-plated walking cane. He was in his late fifties, with sharp aristocratic cheekbones and cold, pale blue eyes.

The Senior Trustee.

"Time is up, gentlemen," the man said, his voice the exact match to the chilling audio from Bern. "Where is the interior cylinder?"

"The bedrock refuses the hydraulic press, Mr. Sterling," the mercenary leader answered, wiping sweat from his brow. "Without the master ledger’s cipher, the locking pins remain magnetically charged. If we use high explosives, the entire house collapses into the shaft and buries the terminal under three hundred tons of rubble."

Julian Sterling let out a weary, disgusted sigh. "Then bring the girl down."

Above us, heavy dragging steps thudded across the ceiling, followed by Chloe’s desperate shrieking. Two guards forced her down the stairs. Her hair was matted, her face smeared with mascara and tears, her pregnant belly trembling under a torn wool cardigan.

"Please!" Chloe cried out, dropping to her knees on the cold basement floor. "I gave you the safe combination! I gave you the deeds! I don't know anything about a ledger! Evelyn never told me anything!"

"Of course she didn't, my dear," Sterling said softly, resting the tip of his cane beneath Chloe’s chin and lifting her head. "Because Evelyn knew you were a hollow vessel. You wanted a luxury nursery in a suburban house, completely unaware you were squatting on top of the world’s most dangerous financial archive. But mothers are terribly predictable. When Evelyn arrives, she will trade the ledger for you and the child."