THE TATTOOED MAN IN THE WHEELCHAIR WHO UNLOCKED THE SECRET BENEATH HIS BED

The bedroom door swung open with a slow, deliberate creak. Marcus Vance stepped into the crimson-lit room, flanked by two burly men in black tactical gear holding suppressed sidearms. Marcus’s cold gray eyes swept the room, landing instantly on Julian, who sat calmly in his wheelchair by the window, his hands resting quietly over the wool blanket covering his legs.

“I told you to enjoy the view, Julian,” Marcus said smoothly, taking a slow stroll into the center of the room as his guards fanned out to secure the perimeter. “It seems you just couldn't resist digging through things that don't belong to you.”

Julian didn't flinch. He leaned back in his chair, offering Marcus a cold, mocking smirk that cut straight through the lawyer's composed facade.

“You always did have terrible taste in music, Marcus,” Julian said evenly. “And your choice of armed thugs is frankly a bit cliché for a corporate hostile takeover.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking violently in his cheek. He glanced around the room, noticing the empty space near the writing desk and the slight disarray of the laptop. His gaze snapped back to Julian with narrowed, predatory slits.

“Where is the flash drive?” Marcus asked, his voice dropping an octave into a dangerous, icy register.

“What flash drive?” Julian countered innocently, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you left behind earlier? Must be losing your memory along with your ethics.”

Marcus didn't waste time arguing. He signaled to one of the tactical guards, who immediately moved toward the master bathroom door, kicking it open with a deafening crash. A moment later, the guard stepped back out, shaking his head.

“Clear,” the guard reported. “Service exit is locked from the outside. No one went that way.”

Marcus turned his gaze back to Julian, a cruel smile spreading across his thin lips. “The service exit was locked, yes. But your new little nurse wasn't smart enough to disable the security sensor on the freight elevator before she slipped down to the lobby two minutes ago.”

Julian’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face completely masked, refusing to betray Maeve’s escape.

“Maeve finished her morning shift and went home,” Julian said smoothly. “You paranoid corporate ghouls see conspiracies behind every mop bucket.”

“Maeve is currently being escorted back up to this floor by my security team,” Marcus replied smoothly, pulling out his smartphone and tapping the screen. “And by the time she gets here, you’re going to tell me exactly where she hid the drive. Because if you don't, I’ll let you watch us dismantle her career, her family, and everything she holds dear before we lock you both away in a subterranean medical ward where no one will ever hear your screams.”

The elevator chime sounded down the hall. Julian’s blood ran cold. The heavy doors slid open, and two guards dragged Maeve back into the penthouse, shoving her roughly onto the hardwood floor near Julian’s wheelchair. Maeve’s red hair was disheveled, her uniform torn at the shoulder, but her green eyes burned with unyielding defiance as she looked up at Julian.

“I didn't tell them anything,” Maeve whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she clutched her torn apron.

Marcus walked over, standing directly above her, looking down with casual cruelty as he raised his hand to signal his guard.