I Resuscitated a Dying Man in a Midnight Elevator—Twelve Hours Later, I Discovered He Was the Billionaire CEO Who Owned the Entire City, and He Had Left Me Everything in His Secret Will!

Lucas kicked the heavy vault door open with explosive force.

CLANG!

The steel door slammed against the concrete wall, echoing like a gunshot through the subterranean chamber. “Step away from the barrel, Victor!” Lucas roared.

Victor whipped around, dropping the blowtorch onto the concrete floor. The two corrupt security guards instantly reached for their holstered sidearms.

“Don’t even think about it,” Julian shouted, stepping into the doorway with two armed tactical officers, their laser sights painting bright red dots across the guards' chests. The guards immediately froze, raising their hands and dropping their weapons to the floor.

Victor backed away slowly, his face twisted into a feral, desperate sneer. “Lucas... you always were an arrogant fool. You think you’ve won?”

“The Swiss accounts, the Prague laboratory receipts, the digital logs of the foxglove purchase... we have all of it, Victor,” Lucas said, stepping forward into the light. “Your board seat is gone. Your fortune is gone. You are facing twenty-five years at Stateville Correctional for attempted murder.”

Victor’s eyes darted frantically around the room, finally locking onto me standing just behind Lucas.

A flash of pure, murderous madness erupted in Victor’s eyes.

“If I’m going down, Bennett... you’re coming with me!”

With shocking speed, Victor lunged toward a utility cart, grabbed a heavy steel crowbar, and hurled himself not at Lucas—but straight at me!

“Bailey, look out!” Lucas roared.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Lucas didn't hesitate for a microsecond. Ignoring his fractured ribs, ignoring the searing agony in his sternum, he threw his entire body between me and the incoming strike.

The heavy steel crowbar struck Lucas across his left shoulder, the impact echoing through the vault. Lucas grunted in agony, but instead of falling, he used his forward momentum to drive his right shoulder straight into Victor’s chest, slamming the traitorous vice-chairman hard against the concrete wall.

Victor dropped the crowbar, gasping for breath.

Julian’s tactical officers swarmed forward, tackling Victor to the ground, pinning his arms behind his back, and snapping heavy steel handcuffs around his wrists.

“Lucas!” I cried out, dropping to my knees beside him as he collapsed back onto a wooden crate, clutching his injured shoulder and gasping for air.

“I’m fine... I’m fine,” he wheezed, but his skin had turned dangerously pale, and sweat was beading across his forehead.

I instantly pulled my portable pulse oximeter from my medical bag and clamped it onto his finger. Heart rate: 142. Oxygen saturation: 94%.

“You idiot!” I scolded, tears of terror and relief spilling over my eyelashes as I supported his neck and unbuttoned his collar. “You could have shattered your rib completely! What were you thinking?”

Lucas looked up at me through the pain, a weak, radiant smile touching his lips. He reached up with his uninjured hand and gently wiped a tear from my cheek.

“I was thinking... that nobody hurts my girl,” he whispered softly.

The tactical team hauled a screaming, cursing Victor Sterling out of the vault and into the cold custody of the waiting Chicago Police Department.