Chapter 3 - THE GHOST OF THE CALDWELL PASTEthan stared at her, the room spinning slightly. "My father died of a stroke ten years ago. Everyone knows that."
"That’s what the medical examiner on your family’s payroll told you," Maggie corrected, walking over to the shattered window and looking out into the misty New Jersey tree line where the sniper had fled. "He was poisoned with a slow-acting neurotoxin. The same neurotoxin found in the blood of the men who broke into your house last night. The same syndicate Victor Vance has been secretly running behind your back."
Ethan walked slowly toward her, his mind racing through a decade of loyalty, betrayed in a single morning. "Why didn't you kill Victor when you had the chance?"
"Because killing him is too easy," Maggie said, turning around. "Victor is just a middleman. The compass tattoo on his men, and on Victor's inner wrist, belongs to the Iron Compass—an international syndicate of rogue intelligence operatives and corporate assassins. And they aren't just after your money, Ethan. They want the encryption keys to the global shipping ports your grandfather left behind. Keys that are currently locked inside your private study safe."
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. "The safe you defended with a skillet."
A faint, humorless ghost of a smile touched the corner of Maggie’s mouth. "I told you. It was closer."
"You knew about the safe before you started working here," Ethan stated, not as a question, but as a realization. "You didn't apply for this job by accident, did you?"
"No," Maggie admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I spent three years tracking Victor Vance across Eastern Europe. When I found out he had infiltrated your inner circle and was planning a hostile takeover of the Caldwell syndicate, I knew I couldn't just walk up to your front gate with a badge or a warning. Your guards would have put a bullet in my head before I spoke two words. So, I learned how to fold laundry, scrub marble, and become invisible."
Ethan looked at her—really looked at her. Beneath the plain uniform and tied-back hair was a lethal, highly trained operative whose tactical instincts far exceeded those of his best men.
Before Ethan could process the staggering revelation, his encrypted satellite phone buzzed loudly on the sideboard.
He snatched it up. The screen flashed a red alert: MAIN GATE COMPROMISED. REINFORCEMENTS ARRIVING. ACTIVE SHOOTER PROTOCOL ENGAGED.
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Except, according to the system, the reinforcements weren't coming from his private security reserves.
They were coming from the syndicate. And they had already breached the inner courtyard.
