Chapter 10 - Infiltration
The rain continued to lash against the reinforced glass windows of the 40th-floor penthouse suite, washing away the city lights into blurred streaks of neon red and yellow. Inside the ultra-modern, minimalist living room, Victoria Vance sat comfortably on a white leather sofa, swirling amber scotch in a crystal tumbler. On the glass coffee table directly in front of her sat Clara’s missing smartphone, glowing faintly with incoming notification lights.
Julian paced across the expensive hardwood floor, his black tuxedo jacket discarded, his shirt collar unbuttoned, looking every bit like a cornered animal.
"She slipped through our fingers again!" Julian yelled, slamming his fist onto a marble pillar. "How incompetent can your security team be, Victoria? If she goes to the federal prosecutors with that phone, we are finished. Every single asset we built will be seized within forty-eight hours."
"Calm down, Julian. Panic doesn't suit a billionaire," Victoria replied coolly, taking a slow sip of her scotch. "The phone is locked with facial recognition, true, but our IT department is already bypassing the security protocols. By morning, those financial files will be wiped clean from the cloud, and Clara will be nothing more than a hysterical runaway bride with zero credibility."
Suddenly, the sleek smart-home control panel mounted on the wall beeped softly, flashing a warning light. Exterior motion detected on the private balcony.
Julian stopped pacing instantly, his eyes darting toward the floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading out to the dark balcony high above the city streets. "What was that? Did you order more guards up here?"
"No," Victoria said, her calm demeanor cracking for the first time as she set her glass down with a sharp clink. "Nobody should be out on that balcony in this weather."
Before Julian could reach for the security console, the reinforced glass door shattered inward with a deafening crash of breaking safety glass and freezing wind. Shards of glass rained across the hardwood floor as two figures dropped smoothly from the balcony ledge into the penthouse living room.
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Marcus Sterling stepped through the shattered frame first, holding a tactical suppressed firearm pointed directly at Julian’s chest. Right behind him stepped Clara, still wearing her oversized gray janitorial coveralls over her ruined wedding gown, her face set with cold, unyielding determination as she locked eyes directly with her terrified, traitorous groom.
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