Chapter 6 - The Boardroom TrapThe downtown financial tower loomed against the pale, bruised morning sky like a monolithic tombstone.
Our armored Maybach slid silently into the subterranean parking garage without turning on its headlights. The garage was mostly empty, save for three black Lincoln Navigators parked near the private elevator lobby—Vincent's personal escort vehicles.
"They're already here," Elizabeth whispered, peering through the tinted glass as I cut the engine.
"Of course they are," I replied, checking the weight of the Sig Sauer beneath my jacket. "Greed always makes men early for their own execution."
We stepped out into the freezing concrete garage. The air smelled of exhaust fumes and damp cement. We bypassed the standard elevator bank, taking the service maintenance stairwell that led straight up to the penthouse boardroom on the 65th floor. Every step we took was silent, deliberate, and calculated.
By the time we reached the heavy oak doors of the boardroom, my heart was hammering a steady, rhythmic beat against my ribs. Adrenaline sang through my veins, sharpening my senses until every sound—the distant hum of the HVAC system, the faint murmur of voices inside the room—crystalized into absolute clarity.
I didn't knock. I raised my boot and kicked the heavy oak doors inward with explosive force.
Bang!
The doors slammed against the interior walls with a deafening crash, splintering the reinforced hinges.
Inside, twelve men turned in absolute shock.
Seated at the head of the massive mahogany conference table was Vincent James, his silver-haired head snapping around, his mouth half-open in mid-sentence. Standing right beside him, his hand already dipping toward his shoulder holster, was Marcus Thorne.
"Andrew?!" Vincent gasped, scrambling backward out of his leather chair so fast his paperwork scattered across the floor like autumn leaves. "You... you were supposed to be stranded in Chicago! The storm grounded all flights!"
"Storms only delay the inevitable, cousin," I said, walking slowly into the room with my hands casually resting at my sides, though my fingers were locked onto the grip of my hidden weapon.
Elizabeth slipped in silently behind me, her HK MP5 raised and leveled directly at the chest of the nearest enforcer before anyone even realized she was there.
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Marcus Thorne’s eyes widened in sheer terror as he looked from me to Elizabeth. "How... how did you get past the lobby security? The guards were supposed to—"
"The guards are currently tied up in the basement, Marcus," Elizabeth interrupted, a cold, predatory smile playing on her lips. "Just like your career."
