Chapter 17 - The Council of GhostsForty-eight hours later, in a heavily guarded, windowless penthouse suite overlooking the financial district of Zurich, three elderly men sat in silence around a mahogany table.
They were the remaining directors of the high table—the architects of the Vanguard Syndicate who had survived twenty years in the shadows. On the center of the table sat a laptop screen, its display frozen on a single, flashing error message: CONNECTION LOST - ONSITE SECURE SERVER DESTROYED.
"The strike squad failed," an old man with a silver beard whispered, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched a crystal glass of whiskey. "Ortega eliminated them all."
"Then we send the clean-up crew," another replied coldly, adjusting his tie. "We send a full battalion. We burn that cliffside estate to ash. No witnesses. No bloodline."
The heavy mahogany double doors of the penthouse suddenly swung open with a slow, deliberate creak.
The three directors froze, looking up in unison.
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Standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the hallway, was Ramon Ortega. Behind him stood Victor, Diego, and Matteo, their weapons holstered, their faces completely unreadable.
"You won't have to send anyone," Ramon said, stepping calmly into the room as his polished dress shoes clicked against the expensive hardwood floor. "I saved you the trip."
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