Chapter 8 - The Trojan Horse Operation
At 11:45 AM, a sleek black courier van pulled into the underground loading bay of Whitlock Plaza in downtown Phoenix.
The security guards at the bay entrance didn't flinch; the van was registered to Whitlock Resorts logistics, and the driver wore the standard high-visibility vest and hard hat. Inside the back of the cargo hold, hidden beneath heavy wooden pallets of industrial tile samples, sat Tessa, the two boys, and myself.
"When the vehicle stops at Loading Bay 4, we have exactly ninety seconds before the shift change," I whispered in the dim, cramped space, checking the magazine of the legal security-detail Glock I had stripped from one of the men who chased us last night.
Tessa held our sons close, her face set with grim determination. "Grant, if we don't make it out of this building..."
"We are making it out," I interrupted, cupping her face with my hand. "For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I'm fighting for."
The van ground to a halt. The engine cut off.
Heavy boots approached the rear doors. Thud. Thud.
"Delivery for legal archives," a gruff voice called out—one of my oldest, most trusted resort general managers, Frank, who had smuggled himself into the city to help me pull this off.
The heavy metal latch slid open, flooding the dark cargo bay with blinding fluorescent light. Frank peeked in, grinning beneath his hard hat. "Coast is clear, boss. Marcus and your mother are waiting on the forty-second floor penthouse boardroom. They think you're coming to surrender."
"Good," I said, slipping out of the truck. "Let's go crash a board meeting."
We bypassed the elevators entirely, taking the industrial service freight stairs up through the core of the skyscraper. By 11:58 AM, we reached the heavy mahogany double doors of the executive penthouse suite.
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Two of Lorraine’s private security guards stood outside the doors. They didn't even have time to reach for their holsters before Frank and I moved in unison, sweeping their legs and neutralizing them against the plush carpet before they could utter a sound.
I grabbed the heavy brass handle, took a deep breath, and shoved the doors wide open.
