The lobby of the Standard Oil Building was a fortress preparing to fall.
The grand marble floors, usually polished to a mirror shine, were scuffed with boot prints and dragged furniture. Desks had been overturned to form barricades near the revolving doors.
Alta Rockefeller Prentice stood in the center of the chaos. She wore her fur coat like armor. In her hand, the pearl-handled pistol looked like a toy, but her grip was iron.
"You," she pointed to a trembling mailroom boy. "Take that shotgun to the mezzanine. If they breach the glass, aim for the legs."
The boy nodded, swallowing hard, and ran up the stairs.
The front doors burst open.
It wasn't the mob. It was Jason and O'Malley.
They were covered in snow and soot. Jason looked wild-eyed.
"Barricade the doors!" Jason shouted. "Weld them shut if you have to!"
"What did you see?" Alta asked, her voice steady.
"The police joined them," Jason gasped, leaning over a desk to catch his breath. "Times Square is gone. They're marching on us. Ten thousand of them. Maybe more."
The color drained from Alta's face. For the first time, the "Iron Queen" looked human.
"The police?" she whispered. "But... we pay the police pension fund."
"We stopped paying it when we froze the accounts," Jason said bitterly. "Loyalty has a temperature, Alta. And it freezes at twelve degrees."
The sound of shattering glass echoed from the street.
A brick flew through the front window. Then another. Then a bottle.
Whoosh.
Flames licked up the heavy velvet drapes hanging in the lobby windows.
"Put it out!" O'Malley screamed, grabbing a fire extinguisher.
The lobby filled with smoke and the roar of a thousand voices outside. It sounded like the ocean during a hurricane. A relentless, crushing noise.
Sarah ran out of the elevator. She was wearing her nurse's uniform, stained with soot.
"Jason!" she cried, grabbing his arm. "The infirmary downstairs—we have wounded security guards. We need to move them."
"There's no time," Jason said. He looked at the front doors. The heavy brass handles were rattling. Chains were being wrapped around them from the outside.
"They aren't trying to break in," O'Malley realized. "They're trying to lock us in. They want to burn us out."
"No," Jason said. "Adolf doesn't want to kill us. He wants a show trial. He wants to drag us out onto Broadway and hang us from the lamp posts."
A megaphone screeched outside. The sound cut through the noise of the crowd.
"PEOPLE OF NEW YORK!"
It was him. The voice was unmistakable.
Jason moved to the side of the window, peering through a crack in the barricade.
Adolf Hitler stood on top of an overturned NYPD armored truck parked right in front of 26 Broadway. He was lit by the fires burning on the sidewalk. He looked like a demon on a pulpit.
"Look at this tower!" Adolf shouted, pointing a gloved finger at the building. "Stone and gold! While you freeze! They have coal in the basement! They have food in their private restaurant! Why do the parasites eat while the host starves?"
The crowd roared. It was a visceral, hungry sound.
"Bring them out!" the mob chanted. "Bring them out!"
"We have to leave," Jason said, turning to the group. "The steam tunnels."
"The subway connection?" Alta asked, wrinkling her nose. "It's filled with rats."
"Better rats than a noose," Jason said. "O'Malley, get Senior. Carry him if you have to."
"Where is Junior?" Sarah asked, looking around.
Jason froze.
He scanned the lobby. The barricades. The stairs.
Junior wasn't there.
"He was praying by the elevator five minutes ago," the secretary wept from behind the desk. "He... he said he had to talk to them."
"Talk to them?" Jason's blood ran cold.
He looked at the side exit—the small servants' door near the mailroom. It was unbarred. Slightly ajar.
"The idiot," Jason hissed.
He ran to the security monitors—a bank of grainy black-and-white screens Jason had installed using prototype RCA technology.
Screen 4 showed the side alley.
Junior was stepping out into the snow. He held his Bible high above his head like a shield.
"No," Jason whispered.
On the screen, Junior walked toward the edge of the crowd. He was shouting something. Probably scripture. Probably forgiveness.
A man in a police uniform turned around. He didn't see a Rockefeller. He saw a rich man in a clean coat telling him to calm down.
The cop didn't hesitate. He swung his nightstick.
Crack.
Junior went down. The Bible flew into the slush.
The cop raised the stick again.
"They're going to kill him," Sarah gasped, watching the screen.
Then, the crowd parted.
Adolf stepped into the frame.
He grabbed the cop's arm. He said something. The cop lowered the stick.
Adolf looked down at Junior. He grabbed him by the lapels of his three expensive coats and hauled him up. Junior hung limp, blood streaming from his forehead.
Adolf turned Junior around to face the mob. He presented him like a trophy hunter presenting a lion.
The crowd cheered wilder than before.
Then, Adolf looked up. He looked directly at the security camera.
He smiled.
It was a terrifying, knowing smile. He knew Jason was watching.
He dragged Junior away, disappearing into the sea of bodies.
"He has him," Jason said. The realization hit him like a physical blow. "He has the heir."
"We have to get him back," Alta said. Her voice was trembling, but her eyes were calculating. "Jason, if Junior dies..."
"I know," Jason cut her off. "If Junior dies, the Trust dissolves. The shares get split among the cousins. The board panics. The empire collapses."
"We lose the leverage," Alta said. "Junior is the only thing keeping the Senate from dissolving us. His 'morality' is our shield."
Jason looked at the empty alley on the screen.
He had spent the last two years fighting Junior. He had blackmailed him. He had humiliated him. He had wished him gone.
And now, Junior was the most valuable asset in the world.
"The tunnel," Jason ordered. "Now! Before they breach the lobby."
O'Malley appeared, carrying a confused and protesting Senior over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"My milk!" Senior complained. "I didn't finish my milk!"
They ran down the service stairs. Into the basement. Past the boilers that were now cold.
Jason kicked open the rusty grate to the steam tunnels. The smell of sewage and damp earth hit them.
"Ladies first," Jason said.
Sarah climbed in. Then Alta. Then O'Malley with Senior.
Jason paused. He looked back up the stairs toward the lobby.
The sound of wood splintering echoed down the stairwell. The front doors had given way. The mob was inside.
"I'm coming for you, Junior," Jason whispered to the darkness. "Don't you dare die on me."
He jumped into the hole and pulled the grate shut.
Above him, the boots of the revolution thundered on the marble floor, searching for a king who was already crawling through the mud.