Chapter 5 - The Infiltration
By 3:00 AM, the rain had tapered off into a thick, low-slung fog that enveloped the city skyline.
Marcus had set up a secure, satellite-linked network inside the warehouse. Beside him sat a row of burner phones and a customized signal scanner.
"David’s primary safe house isn't his apartment," I told Marcus, studying the city map laid out across the metal table. "He bought a high-rise penthouse in the Financial District six months ago. He told me it was an investment property for the firm, but he kept a private keycard in his desk at home."
"That’s where he’ll go to execute the final wire transfer," Marcus said, tapping his pencil against the table. "The transfer requires a hard-token security key that’s physically wired into his private server at that penthouse. He can't move the forty-two million from a mobile phone or a laptop—he has to be physically present in that room to authorize the payout."
"Then that’s where we go," I said, tightening the laces of a pair of black tactical boots Marcus had provided.
"It’s too dangerous, Sarah," Marcus warned. "Victoria has private security contractors stationed throughout that building. Ex-military operators who don't ask questions."
"I know the layout," I replied flatly, turning to look at Leo, who was quietly watching a cartoon on a tablet in the corner, safe under Marcus's surveillance cameras. "David brought me there once while the penthouse was being renovated. He showed off the security system like a prized toy—he was arrogant about it. He used our wedding anniversary as the override passcode for the primary security hub."
Marcus stared at me for a long moment, assessing the cold determination in my eyes, before slowly nodding.
"If we're doing this, we hit them before dawn," Marcus said, opening an armory chest sitting near his workbench. He pulled out a small, compact taser, a pair of night-vision optics, and two voice scramblers. "I will handle the security feeds from the parking garage. You go in, access his terminal, clone the hard-token drive, and upload the ledger to the syndicate's private network."
"And David?" I asked.
"If he's there," Marcus said grimly, "you leave him for the men he stole from."
Twenty minutes later, we were gliding through the misty streets of the city in Marcus's dark SUV. The high-rise building towered over the financial center like a monolith of glass and steel—sixty stories of pure wealth built on secrets.
Marcus parked the SUV in an underground alleyway adjacent to the loading dock. He tapped his tablet, plugging a signal jammer into the building’s external junction box.
"Security cameras on floors fifty through sixty are looping now," Marcus reported into his earpiece. "You have twenty minutes before their automated system runs a diagnostic check and detects the loop. Go."
I slipped out of the vehicle, draped in a dark rain slicker, and made my way silently through the service entrance. My heart was pounding, but it was no longer the erratic, terrified rhythm of a victim—it was the steady, focused beat of a predator.
I reached the service elevator, swiped a forged master keycard Marcus had programmed, and pressed the button for the 58th floor.
The elevator ascended in near silence, the floor indicators lighting up sequentially in red numbers: 30... 40... 50... 58.
Ding.
The doors slid open. The private corridor was dead quiet, lit only by soft floor-strip lighting. I crept down the carpeted hallway until I reached Penthouse 58B.
I looked at the digital keypad mounted beside the heavy steel door.
I entered six digits: 0-6-1-4-1-8. The date of our wedding.
The light flashed green with a soft electronic beep, and the heavy bolt retracted.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The penthouse was stunning—floor-to-ceiling glass walls offering a panoramic view of the fog-drenched city below. Sleek Italian furniture sat on pristine white marble floors.
And sitting at a large mahogany desk in the center of the living room, illuminated only by the glow of three massive computer monitors, was my husband.
He was typing frantically on a keyboard, a glass of scotch sitting beside his hand.
"You really should have stayed in the woods, Sarah," David spoke without looking up from his monitors, his fingers continuing their rapid dance across the keys.
I froze, my hand instinctively dropping to the taser in my pocket.
May you like
David slowly turned his swivel chair around to face me. In his right hand, rested calmly on the armrest, was a black 9mm handgun equipped with a suppressor.
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice the security loop on the service elevator?" he murmured, a cold, mocking smile playing across his lips. "You always were too trusting, my dear. And far too predictable."