Chapter 25 - The Ghost Protocol
"They're not syndicate hitmen," Marcus muttered, zooming in on a tactical patch visible on one of the intruder's shoulders. A silver serpent coiled around a dagger—the insignia of an elite international black-ops syndicate known only as The Directorate.
Elena stepped up to the monitor, her face draining of all color. "The Directorate doesn't work for money. They work for clean slates. If they're here, it means your father’s old international contracts were never terminated. They were inherited."
"Inherited by whom?" Damian asked, his voice chillingly calm as he strapped a tactical rig over his black shirt and checked the magazine of his carbine.
"By the silent partner," Elena said quietly. "The person who funded your father’s initial rise thirty years ago—and who owns every corporate asset you thought you successfully cleaned."
Damian loaded a fresh magazine into his rifle, racking the bolt with a sharp, mechanical clack. He looked at Clara, then at Lily, and finally at Elena. The circle of deceit that had defined his entire life was closing in.
"Marcus, secure the panic room and lock the secondary blast doors," Damian ordered, turning toward the heavy steel exit ramp leading to the upper service tunnels.
"Boss, you're not going out there alone against a Directorate strike team," Marcus protested, gripping his wounded shoulder.
May you like
"I'm not alone," Damian said coldly. He tapped his comms headset. "Activate the property's automated defensive grid. Flood the east gardens with tear gas and seal the main pavilion."
As Damian stepped into the dark concrete tunnels, the heavy steel blast doors hissed shut behind him, sealing his family in safety while he walked directly into the war zone.
