Chapter 3 - The Spider’s Web"Stay behind the desk, Leo," William commanded, his executive authority snapping back into place with absolute, unyielding force.
He didn't panic. Panic was a luxury for people who didn't control Fortune 500 companies. He strode across the plush carpet to the private wall-safe behind his executive painting—a custom Monet. Punching in a rapid, twelve-digit biometric sequence, the heavy steel door swung inward to reveal not cash or documents, but a matte-black tactical submachine gun and two spare high-capacity magazines.
Marcus slammed a fresh clip into his own Glock. "Sir, the CCTV feeds on this floor are looping. Someone on the inside just gave root access to the outer grid."
"Who has root access besides me, you, and Julian?" William demanded, racking the bolt of his weapon with a sharp, metallic clack.
"Only one other person," Marcus growled, his eyes dark with fury. "Julian’s new executive assistant. Sarah Jenkins. She started three weeks ago."
William’s stomach plummeted. Sarah Jenkins. The quiet, brilliant MIT graduate with straight-A recommendations and a smile that could disarm a firing squad. She was the one who personally coordinated the morning coffee service for the executive lounge.
Suddenly, the sleek, floor-to-ceiling smart-glass windows of the forty-second floor flickered. The panoramic view of the Chicago skyline began to distort, the smart-tint shifting rapidly from clear daylight to an opaque, pitch-black digital mesh.
BZZZZT.
Every computer screen in the executive suite simultaneously flashed a single line of glowing green text against a blood-red background:
WELCOME TO THE LIQUIDATION, WILLIAM. DRINK UP.
"It's a localized EMP and network lockout," William realized instantly. "They aren't just trying to kill me. They’re wiping the servers. Every financial ledger, every offshore asset, every acquisition code—they’re transferring ownership as we speak."
"Dad!" Leo screamed from behind the mahogany desk.
From the ceiling ventilation grates above the private lounge, a heavy, industrial-grade smoke canister dropped with a sharp clatter, venting a thick, suffocating cloud of purple chemical gas.
"Gas masks! Now!" Marcus barked, kicking a hidden floor compartment open to reveal emergency tactical gear.
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William slammed his mask into place, sealing the straps tight, but his eyes remained fixed on the frosted glass doors. Through the milky glass, silhouetted against the dark hallway lighting, a tall, imposing figure stood watching them.
The silhouette raised a hand, lifted a remote detonator, and pressed the button.
