Chapter 7 - Shadows in the Boardroom
The service elevator moved in absolute silence, bypassing the regular lobby floors and descending straight into the high-security subterranean core before gliding upward toward the thirty-eighth-floor executive suite.
Inside the small, mirrored compartment, James stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Grace, his hand resting casually near his pocket where a heavy brass key ring hung. The digital display above the door ticked upward: 35... 36... 37...
The car came to a smooth, silent halt. The brushed-steel doors slid open with a soft hiss.
Darkness greeted them. The expansive executive floor, usually bathed in the bright, immaculate glow of architectural lighting, was pitch black. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the grey, rain-slicked Los Angeles skyline, silhouettes of skyscrapers cutting into the heavy clouds.
James stepped out first, his footsteps making zero sound on the thick wool carpeting. Grace followed closely behind, her breath catching in her throat as she navigated the shadows she once only knew from stolen glances years ago.
They crept along the perimeter wall, moving toward the grand double doors of the executive boardroom. A faint, rhythmic clicking sound drifted down the corridor—the unmistakable sound of a high-speed mechanical drill hitting reinforced titanium.
James held up a hand, motioning for Grace to stay behind a decorative stone pillar. He edged closer to the corner of the hallway, peering into the expansive boardroom.
Bathed in the green glow of a portable tactical work light, a man in a dark tactical turtleneck knelt before the custom walnut-paneled wall behind the primary conference table. A laptop was wired directly into an open wall terminal, downloading gigabytes of encrypted financial data at breakneck speed, while a thermal drill hissed quietly against the biometric safe housing the master ledger disks.
It wasn't just a grunt. It was Sterling’s chief technical operative—a man known in the underworld as a digital cleaner.
James didn't wait. He closed the distance across the boardroom in three silent strides, lunging forward and tackling the operative hard against the mahogany table.
The laptop went flying, clattering across the floor in a shower of plastic shards. The operative grunted, a sharp, surprised curse escaping his lips as he twisted around, driving an elbow straight into James’s ribs.
James stumbled back, gasping for breath, but lunged again, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him against the reinforced glass wall.
“Who hired you?” James growled, his knuckles white. “Give me a name!”
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The operative grinned, blood trickling from the corner of his lip. He looked past James’s shoulder toward the doorway.
“You’re too late, Whitmore,” the man wheezed, laughing softly. “The transfer package auto-executes in sixty seconds. The board doesn't belong to you anymore.”
