Chapter 12 - The Flooding Vault
With a deafening mechanical thud, high-pressure industrial sprinkler heads ruptured across the ceiling. But it wasn't just water that erupted—it was high-density, suffocating chemical fire foam designed to smother bank vault blazes.
The blinding white spray hit Vance and his two associates point-blank, knocking them off their feet. The chemical fog instantly filled the lobby, burning their eyes and choking their lungs.
Vance fired a shot blind into the ceiling, the bullet ricocheting harmlessly off reinforced concrete with a shriek of sparks.
"Move!" Julian yelled, grabbing Grandma Ruth under her arm and pushing open the emergency vault exit door that led toward the rear alley.
We burst through the metal fire door into the pouring rain. But as we stumbled out into the gravel alleyway, the second henchman leaped from the shadows, grabbing me by the collar and slamming me against the brick wall. The ledger slipped from my fingers, splashing into the muddy puddle.
"Got the girl!" the man shouted through the fog.
Before he could draw a weapon, the front bumper of Frank’s heavy-duty Ford F-350 roared into the alleyway, tires screeching on the wet stone. Frank didn't hit the man—he sideswiped the heavy industrial dumpster next to him, slamming the metal bin directly into the attacker, knocking him unconscious into the gravel.
Frank kicked his truck door open, holding a heavy tire iron, his face red with fury. "Get in! All three of you, get in right now!"
Julian scooped up the muddy ledger, lifted Ruth into the front cab, and shoved me into the back seat. Frank threw the truck into reverse, tires smoking, just as Arthur Vance stumbled out the fire exit, coughing chemical foam, his pistol raised.
*Bang! Bang!*
Two slugs punched through the tailgate, but Frank gunned the V8 engine, whipping the heavy truck around the corner onto the main avenue and leaving Vance standing in the billowing smoke of the alley.
"Everyone breathing?" Frank roared over the sound of the engine, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"We have it, Frank," I panted, clutching the soaked ledger and the cassette tape against my chest. "We have the names. Every single child Evelyn and Vance trafficked thirty years ago."
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Grandma Ruth sat in the passenger seat, her eyes fixed on the rear-view mirror. "We aren't going back to Syracuse, Frank," she declared in a cold, steady tone. "Take us to the Federal Building in Rochester. It's time to end Evelyn's legacy once and for all."
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