Chapter 4 - The Penthouse BreachAlexander stared at the glowing screen, his breath catching in his throat. On the display, his high-security Mayfair penthouse—a fortress equipped with biometric locks, bulletproof glass, and a private security detail—was being dismantled piece by piece.
The screen showed men in tactical gear systematically tearing down the mahogany bookshelves in his study.
"How..." Alexander whispered, his fingers hovering over the edge of the open laptop. "How is this feed active? My home security system was routed through a quantum-encrypted server in Zurich. Nobody outside my inner circle has the decryption keys."
Declan walked over, leaning heavily on a wooden crate as he looked down at the screen. A low whistle escaped his bearded lips. "Well, mate, looks like your inner circle isn't quite as loyal as you thought. Who had access to the Zurich keys?"
"Only three people," Alexander said, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "My chief financial officer, Marcus Vance. My general counsel, Evelyn Thorne. And..." He stopped, his jaw tightening. "And my late wife's brother, Julian, who handles my private trust."
Suddenly, the audio on the laptop feed flickered to life.
—sweep the bedroom again! a harsh voice barked through the warehouse speakers, echoing off the high brick walls. If Takahashi wants the core encryption drive, it has to be hidden somewhere in this damn vault. The boss said Roses kept his personal files off-cloud.
On screen, a man walked directly toward a hidden panel behind the master fireplace—the exact spot where Alexander kept the physical hard drives detailing the illegal black-ops funding of the Tokyo merger.
"They're going to find it," Alexander muttered, standing up abruptly. His instincts, honed by a decade of corporate warfare, flared to life. He wasn't just a victim running for his life anymore; he was a predator backed into a corner.
"Where are you going?" Declan asked, crossing his arms. "You walk back into Mayfair right now, you're walking straight into a firing squad."
"I'm not going back to Mayfair," Alexander said, his eyes locking onto the tan puppy, which was sitting calmly beside the open floor vault, wagging its tail in a slow, rhythmic beat. "I'm going to our secondary vault. The one they don't know about."
Declan raised an eyebrow. "And the mutts?"
Alexander looked down at the white puppy, which had finally stopped shivering, its dark eyes blinking sleepily as it rested its head on his shoe. He reached down, scooped both puppies into his arms, and tucked them securely inside his woolen vest.
"They come with us," Alexander said firmly. "Something tells me these dogs know more about my security breaches than my board of directors."
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"Right," Declan muttered, reaching for a heavy pump-action shotgun leaning against a crate. "Let's go ruin some corporate careers."
They piled back into the Ford Transit, heading south toward the financial docks of Salford Quays, unaware that the tan puppy in the back seat was staring intently at the dashboard's built-in GPS—reprogramming the route with a series of sharp, rhythmic paw taps on the digital screen.
