Chapter 9 - The Boy Who Cried Wolf
Julian didn't hesitate. He launched himself forward, crashing spectacularly into the table holding the champagne fountain.
The sound of shattering glass echoed like a bomb going off. Hundreds of expensive flutes cascaded to the marble floor in a tidal wave of sticky alcohol and broken crystal. Gasps and screams erupted from the elite guests.
Arthur Vance’s face turned a dangerous, mottled purple. Graves immediately broke into a sprint toward the boy, walkie-talkie in hand, mobilizing the security team to handle the embarrassing disaster.
It was the perfect chaos.
Clara slipped away, darting through the servant’s corridors toward the basement. She bypassed the kitchens, flying down the concrete stairs into the subterranean level of the manor. Graves’s office was at the end of the hall, secured by a keypad.
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Clara pulled a small device from her pocket—an electronic skimmer she had bought on the black market weeks ago. She attached it to the keypad. The numbers spun rapidly on the screen before flashing green. Access Granted.
She pushed the door open and rushed to the steel filing cabinet in the corner, praying she wasn't too late.
