The Bloodline of Boston and the Secrets Hidden Beneath Sullivan Diner
Before I could open it, the heavy glass doors of the bank lobby shattered.
The sound echoed through the marble hallways like a gunshot.
“Where is she?” a harsh voice shouted from the lobby.
It was one of the men from the subway platform.
“Hey! You can’t go back there!” the security guard yelled.
A loud thud followed, then the sound of something heavy hitting the tile floor.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I shoved the envelope and the notebook into my coat pocket.
The vault assistant gasped, her face turning pale as she looked toward the hallway.
“Is there another way out?” I whispered, grabbing her arm.
“The emergency exit,” she stammered, pointing to a gray metal door at the back of the vault. “It leads to the basement stairs.”
“Lock this gate behind me,” I said.
I pushed the heavy emergency bar on the door.
An alarm began to blare, a high-pitched siren that filled the small room.
I plunged into the concrete stairwell.
It was cold and smelled of old cardboard and wet cement.
I ran down the steps, my boots echoing against the walls.