Chapter 7 - The Midnight Raid
The black SUV roared down the coastal highway, tearing through the midnight fog at breakneck speed. Julian drove with one hand gripping the steering wheel while his other hand furiously coordinated with the city police department and federal cybercrime division. In the backseat, Martha held Lily tightly in her arms, the little girl fast asleep against her shoulder, her white stuffed bunny clutched safely in her small hands.
As they crossed the city limits, the skyline of downtown loomed ahead, but something was terribly wrong. The upper floors of the Vance Global Tower were completely dark, save for a single, flickering emergency generator light pulsing rhythmically on the forty-fifth floor—the exact location of the executive master vault.
“She’s wiping the servers,” Julian cursed, slamming his foot down harder on the accelerator as the SUV’s tires squealed around a sharp urban off-ramp. “She must have had a backdoor installed in the mainframe years ago.”
They pulled up to the glass-walled lobby of the tower within twenty minutes. The scene was eerily quiet compared to the chaos of the afternoon. The shattered glass from the broken trophy case had been swept into a neat pile by night-shift maintenance, leaving jagged scars across the marble floor. The elevator banks were locked down, the digital displays flashing red error codes across every screen.
“The freight elevator,” Julian instructed quickly, helping Martha out of the vehicle and scooping Lily gently into his arms without waking her. “It operates on an independent analog circuit. She couldn't lock it from the penthouse.”
They hurried toward the rear service corridor, their footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. The heavy steel door of the freight elevator groaned as Julian forced it open with his bare hands, slipping inside with his mother and the sleeping child. The lift jerked violently before beginning its agonizingly slow ascent toward the forty-fifth floor.
With every passing second, the tension inside the cramped metal box grew thicker. Julian kept his eyes fixed on the illuminated floor indicator numbers as they ticked upward: 30… 35… 40…
When the lift finally slammed to a halt at forty-five, the heavy metal doors parted with a loud pneumatic hiss.
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Standing in the center of the dark, ruined executive suite, illuminated only by the pale blue glow of a laptop screen, was Beatrice. But she wasn't packing bags or trying to flee. She was holding a heavy glass decanter of scotch in one hand, a lit cigar in the other, and a terrifying, unhinged smile spread across her face.
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