Chapter 7 THE PANIC ROOM

Chapter 7 – THE PANIC ROOM

Sharon's hands trembled as she moved along the wall of Georgia's private study.

The penthouse still hummed from the aftermath of the sniper attack. Security lights flickered intermittently, and James' departure left a cold, quiet tension behind him. Her pulse raced, not just from fear-but from realization. She wasn't just trapped. She was observed. Every move, every breath calculated.

Her eyes scanned the bookshelves. Nothing unusual. Until... a faint scuff mark near the floor.

Sharon crouched. Ran her fingertips along the baseboard. The wood was warmer than the surrounding panels. Slightly sticky. Recent.

A door.

Her stomach sank.

She pushed gently. It gave.

A low, mechanical click.

The panel swung inward to reveal a narrow corridor barely wide enough for a single person. Dim red emergency lighting. The smell of antiseptic and dust.

It was a panic room.

And someone had been here... recently.

Inside, the air was stale, yet there were unmistakable signs:

• Footprints in the dust, fresh.

• A small leather bag left open on the floor. Papers scattered inside.

• A half-empty bottle of water, condensation still on its surface.

Sharon picked up a folder. Inside, there were documents stamped with dates just a week ago: financial ledgers, security protocols, and movement logs for the Laurent mansion and all affiliated properties.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

Georgia's.

A shiver ran down Sharon's spine.

She pulled open another cabinet. A small monitor blinked faintly. Live feeds. Pan, tilt, zoom - cameras covering the penthouse. Someone had recently monitored every corner of this apartment from here.

Her eyes widened.

This was Georgia's private war room.

Someone had been hiding here while orchestrating movements behind the scenes.

And that someone had not left voluntarily.

Sharon rifled through the papers. A small notebook fell to the floor. She opened it.

Notes scrawled in Georgia's precise handwriting:

"James can't be trusted. Observation: proactive. Contingency required."

"Proxy is... adapting too fast. Risk level increasing."

"Timeline: Zurich access. Clean-up in progress. Target: CFO. Proxy to maintain visibility."

Her heart pounded.

Proxy. That was her.

Maintaining visibility. Her role wasn't just mimicry. She was a shield. A decoy.

And the real Georgia had been moving behind her back, planning every step.

Sharon's fingers shook. She placed the notebook down. The wall opposite her had a safe embedded - biometric lock still active.

Her reflection shimmered faintly in its steel surface.

She pressed her palm against it. Nothing. Not her biometrics.

Georgia's.

Sharon swallowed.

Someone had been here, hiding. Watching. Planning. Waiting.

A sound made her freeze.

A soft metallic click - faint, deliberate, coming from behind the wall of monitors.

Sharon whipped around.

Nothing.

A ventilation grate? Perhaps.

Another click.

Closer.

Her pulse escalated.

She backed toward the panic room door.

And then... a whisper.

"Georgia?"

Sharon froze.

Her mouth went dry.

She stepped backward again, into the small space.

The voice was low, pained, almost fragile - yet familiar.

"Sharon..."

Her breath caught.

It was Georgia Laurent.

Alive.

Somewhere in this very mansion.

Sharon's chest tightened.

The panic room had been used recently. Someone had been hiding.

And now... she wasn't sure who was the hunter, and who was the prey.

The metallic click echoed again - this time, closer.

The panic room door clicked behind her.

Locked.

She was trapped.

And someone was inside with her.

A shadow moved from behind the monitors.

And the first words were barely audible, but chilling:

"You shouldn't be here."