Chapter 5 - The Trap at the Consulting Firm
The glass doors of Apex Defense Solutions loomed over downtown Washington like a monument to corporate power. The lobby was all polished concrete, minimalist art, and quiet efficiency.
I didn't wait for the receptionist to announce me. I walked past the security desk, flashing my old Department of Defense consultant badge—still technically active in the federal database—and headed straight for the elevator bank. The digital display blinked upward, carrying me to the thirty-second floor where Ethan’s new office was located.
My mind was racing through tactical scenarios, discarding each one. This wasn't a dogfight where I could pull a G-switch or dive below a radar horizon. This was a corporate and bureaucratic chess match, and Ethan was the pawn they had placed on the board to force my hand.
When the elevator doors slid open on the thirty-second floor, the quiet hum of corporate life was absent.
The executive floor was entirely empty. The motion-activated lights flickered on as I stepped out onto the gray carpet, revealing rows of unoccupied glass-walled offices. On Ethan’s desk at the far end of the corridor, his laptop was open, the screen glowing brightly in the dim room.
I walked quickly down the hall, my heels clicking sharply against the floor.
"Ethan?" I called out, my voice echoing off the glass panels.
No answer.
I reached his office and stepped inside. The room was undisturbed, save for a single manila folder resting squarely in the center of his keyboard. Written across the tab in neat, black marker were two words: Viper’s Ledger.
I didn't touch it immediately. I scanned the perimeter of the room, checking the reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the glittering expanse of the city below. The rain had stopped, leaving a gray, overcast haze over the Potomac.
My phone buzzed in my hand.
I looked down. A text from an unknown number, containing a single video file.
I pressed play.
The video loaded instantly, showing the feed from a parking garage security camera three blocks away. A grainy, high-contrast shot of Ethan walking toward his car in the underground level of this very building. Two men in dark suits stepped out from behind a concrete pillar, flanking him smoothly, professionally. They didn't use force. They simply guided him toward a black sedan with government plates, opening the door and sliding him into the back seat before the camera cut to black.
The timestamp in the corner of the video read: Four minutes ago.
Before I could process the surge of adrenaline roaring through my veins, the door to Ethan’s office clicked shut behind me with a heavy, magnetic lock.
I spun around.
Standing in the doorway was Colonel Richard Coleman. He wasn't wearing his dress uniform today. He wore a sharp, civilian charcoal suit, his arms crossed over his chest, a cold, satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"You really should have stayed out of the cockpit, Captain," Coleman said quietly, blocking the only exit from the office. "Some flights are designed to be one-way trips."
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I didn't reach for a weapon. I didn't back away. I simply looked at the man who had mocked me over dinner, feeling every trace of hesitation evaporate from my mind.
"You picked the wrong wingman to threaten, Colonel," I said, stepping forward as the elevator chime echoed down the empty corridor outside.
