The vault doors came open with a scream of ruined metal.
creeeak. CRASH.
They hit the walls on either side and stayed there, hanging from hinges that would never close again. The noise echoed through the underground chamber like a gunshot in a cathedral.
The vault was huge, the size of a ballroom, carved out of raw stone and lit by recessed amber lights. The ceiling was low and arched, braced with steel beams. Safety deposit boxes lined the walls, hundreds of them, each marked with a number and a lock. The floor was polished marble. Even underground, the Crimson Syndicate had taste.
But the walls weren't the main attraction.
A huge carved mahogany desk dominated the center of the room.
Behind it sat a man.
The Crimson Boss.
