Kendrick reached the end of the passage, his breath steady as he examined the reinforced door in front of him. The metal surface was old, worn with time, yet the lock remained intact—a simple, outdated mechanism, something that once served as security but was now merely an obstacle to him.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tension wrench and a rake pick, slipping them into the lock with practiced ease. Years of experience had trained his hands, and within seconds, he felt the familiar give of the lock's pins. A soft click echoed in the passage as the door unlocked. He exhaled slowly, then pushed the door open, stepping inside.
The musty scent of aged wood and fermented grapes filled his nostrils. Wine racks stretched across the walls, bottles neatly arranged according to year and origin. His sharp gaze scanned the room—there had to be another hidden entrance leading to the secret basement.
