Chapter 13
Z
The 70th floor of the Sterling-Cross Global tower was a palace of dark marble, floor-to-ceiling glass, and minimalist luxury. The panoramic view showed the entire glittering expanse of New York City under a blanket of rain.
The elevator chime sounded softly as the doors opened.
Standing in the grand reception hallway were two security guards dressed in tailored suits, fitted with earpieces and concealed weapons. When they saw me step out—clad in a wet black trench coat, holding a suppressed pistol—their eyes widened in shock.
"What the—" one guard started, reaching for his sidearm under his jacket.
I didn't give them a second to draw. I stepped forward, driving a sharp elbow strike into the first guard's jaw, knocking him unconscious against the marble wall. Before the second guard could clear his holster, I grabbed his wrist, twisted it inward, snapping his grip, and slammed him face-first into the reception desk.
Both guards were neutralized in under four seconds without a single gunshot fired.
I moved swiftly down the long, carpeted hallway toward the double mahogany doors at the end of the corridor. The sign beside the door read in gold lettering: VICTORIA CROSS - CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER.
I didn't knock. I kicked the lock mechanism with a heavy tactical boot strike.
BANG!
The mahogany doors burst open, swinging wide into the expansive corner office.
Victoria Cross was sitting behind a massive glass desk, a crystal glass of scotch in her hand, reviewing financial documents on a holographic display. She was a woman in her late fifties, with sharp silver hair, cold gray eyes, and an aura of supreme, unshakeable authority.
Standing beside her desk was her personal bodyguard—a giant of a man built like a heavy-duty vault, holding a submachine gun.
The bodyguard raised his weapon instantly, but I was already moving. I dove behind a leather couch in the center of the room as a burst of suppressed automatic fire chewed through the leather and stuffing, sending feathers and dust exploding into the air.
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
I leaned out from behind the couch, firing three precise shots. The first round pierced the bodyguard’s shoulder, forcing him to drop his submachine gun. The second round caught him in the knee, dropping him to the carpet, and the third round grazed his temple, knocking him out cold.
The office went dead silent, save for the hum of the rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I stood up from behind the couch, sweeping the room with my weapon. Victoria Cross hadn't screamed. She hadn't ducked under her desk. She sat in her leather chair, calmly taking a sip of her scotch, looking at me with a mixture of cold curiosity and mild annoyance.
"Colonel Sarah Vance," Victoria said, her voice smooth, refined, and entirely devoid of fear. "I must admit, your file underrepresented your tactical speed. My security team in Wilmington was supposed to eliminate you three hours from now."
"Your team in Wilmington is going to hit an empty house," I said, stepping across the ruined carpet until I stood three feet from her glass desk, keeping my weapon leveled directly at her forehead. "And your syndicate ends tonight, Victoria."
Victoria set her scotch glass down on a stone coaster with a delicate click. She leaned back in her chair, folding her hands together.
"You really don't understand how the world works, do you, Colonel?" Victoria said with a soft, patronizing laugh. "You took down Evelyn Vance. You took down Arthur Pendelton. You think you're cutting off heads of a hydra. But I don't run a street gang or a corrupt real estate company. Sterling-Cross Global manages thirty billion dollars in international defense assets. We own politicians in D.C., judges in Europe, and military commanders across NATO."
"Then you should have used that money to buy better security," I said cold-bloodedly.
Victoria’s cold gray eyes narrowed slightly. "If you shoot me right now, Sarah, my automated contingency systems will trigger immediately. Within five minutes, five hundred million dollars will be transferred into private offshore bounty accounts. Every hitman, mercenary, and corrupt officer on the planet will be hunting your daughter Maya until the day she dies. You will never be safe. She will never be safe."
I stared into her eyes, my finger resting firmly on the trigger of my pistol.
"You think you hold all the leverage, Victoria," I said smoothly. "You think money is the ultimate shield."
I pulled a small wireless data receiver from my coat and slapped it onto her glass desk. The device light blinked blue, linking directly to Maya’s command post back at the hotel.
"What is that?" Victoria asked, her brow furrowing for the first time.
"That is a direct broadcast link to every major news outlet, federal prosecutor, and international intelligence agency in North America and Europe," I explained. "While I was walking up your executive elevator, my daughter breached your server mainframe using the biometric clearance card I took from your chief of security."
Victoria’s face drained of color. The cold, aristocratic composure she maintained began to crack.
"She’s currently uploading thirty years of Sterling-Cross Global's black-budget records, political bribery ledgers, and assassination orders to the Department of Justice," I continued, my voice echoing off the glass walls. "Your financial contingency systems are being frozen by the Federal Reserve right now."
Victoria frantically grabbed her tablet from the desk, tapping the screen with shaking fingers. Red warning banners flashed across her monitor: SYSTEM SECURITY BREACHED. ALL ACCOUNTS FROZEN BY FEDERAL ORDER.
The tablet slipped from her trembling hand, clattering onto the glass desk.
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"You... you ruined me..." Victoria whispered, her voice cracking as she stared at the screen in utter horror.
"No," I said, lowering my pistol slightly as the distant sound of federal police sirens began echoing from the streets seventy floors below. "You ruined yourself the moment you made my daughter your target."
