Chapter 17 - Ascension to the Forty-Second Floor
The digital floor display inside the elevator cab ticked upward at a dizzying speed: Floor 20... Floor 25... Floor 30... Floor 35...
At the thirty-fifth floor, the elevator chimed softly and the doors slid open.
“This is your stop,” I whispered to Ethan, checking my sidearm before stepping out into the dimly lit executive corridor, which was carpeted in thick, sound-dampening wool and lined with expensive modern art.
“See you on the other side,” Ethan replied with a steady nod.
The elevator doors closed silently, carrying him upward toward the main server core on the forty-second floor, while I took up a tactical defensive position near the emergency stairwell door, my eyes scanning the silent, empty hallway.
For five minutes, absolute quiet reigned over the thirty-fifth floor. The only sound was the distant, muffled hum of the building’s massive HVAC system pumping climate-controlled air through the corporate monolith.
Then, my tactical earpiece hissed softly.
“Emily, I’m in the server room,” Ethan’s voice whispered through the comms link, though his tone was laced with unexpected tension. “The physical server racks are here, but something’s wrong.”
“What do you mean, wrong?” I asked, tightening my grip on my pistol. “Is the firewall locked?”
“No,” Ethan replied, his breathing growing rapid. “The firewall isn’t locked. The servers... they’re completely wiped. Every hard drive in the core array has been formatted in the last twenty minutes. There’s nothing here to hack.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Wiped? By whom? Vanguard wouldn't destroy their own financial ledgers.”
“They didn't,” a cold, familiar voice echoed behind me in the executive corridor.
I whirled around instantly, bringing my Sig Sauer up, but before I could acquire the target, a heavy steel baton struck my wrist with bone-jarring force. My pistol slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the wool carpet.
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Standing ten feet away, flanked by four armed private security guards in black tactical gear, was David Sterling. He held a gold-trimmed fountain pen in his hand, twirling it casually between his fingers with a sickeningly smug smile.
“Welcome to Vanguard Plaza, Ms. Carter,” David Sterling said smoothly, stepping closer as the security guards moved in to pin my arms behind my back. “We’ve been expecting you all evening.”
