Chapter 2 - The Ghost in the Blueprint
The heavy mahogany desk felt suddenly cold beneath William’s fingertips.
He didn't turn around to look at Marcus and Vance, his elite, retired-SAS security detail, but he could feel the sudden, lethal shift in their posture. A low, imperceptible click echoed through the room as safety mechanisms on concealed holsters were adjusted. In the corporate arena, William Harrison was used to corporate espionage, hostile takeovers, and board-room coups. He was accustomed to people trying to ruin him financially.
Death, however, was a distinct escalation.
"Marcus," William said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Lock the floor. No elevators up or down. Seal the emergency stairwell doors on forty-two."
"Done, sir," Marcus murmured, already moving with terrifying speed toward the smart-console by the private elevators.
William turned his attention back to the boy. Ten years old. Scuffed sneakers. Battered backpack. Forty-two stories above downtown Chicago, past a private biometric elevator that required a retinal scan and a top-tier executive clearance card.
"What's your name, son?" William asked, softening his tone just a fraction. Fear made children bolt; a gentle voice was a tether.
"Leo," the boy whispered, his eyes still locked on the porcelain mug. "Leo Vance."
William froze. Vance? He glanced sideways at his security chief, Marcus Vance, whose face had instantly drained of all color. Marcus dropped his clipboard, his boots slamming against the imported Persian rug as he rushed forward.
"Leo?" Marcus choked out, dropping to his knees in front of the boy. "Leo... how did you... you're supposed to be with your mother in Evanston."
The boy’s lower lip quivered. "They took her, Dad. Men in black coats. I hid in the utility closet. I followed the man who brought your coffee all the way from the lobby. I climbed the service stairs. All forty-two floors."
William stared at Marcus, then back at the boy. The pieces clicked into place with terrifying velocity. This wasn't a random hit. This was a targeted strike against Harrison Global, leveraging Marcus through his own flesh and blood. And the poisoned coffee? That meant the leak wasn't just on this floor—it was inside William's inner circle.
"Who brought the coffee, Leo?" William asked, standing up so abruptly his chair screeched against the floor.
Leo pointed a trembling finger toward the heavy frosted glass doors. "Him. The man with the scar over his eyebrow."
William’s eyes narrowed. Julian Vance? No. Julian was his chief of operations—wait.
Before William could process the name, the smart-console on Marcus's wrist flashed a blinding, hostile red.
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Marcus cursed, drawing his sidearm. "Boss, we've been locked out of our own system."
