CHAPTER 8: THE TRAP AT THE PIER
CHAPTER 8: THE TRAP AT THE PIER
The luxury high-rise ballroom was empty now. Police tape cordoned off the entrance. But the private elevators at the back were still humming. Clara, Julian, and Eleanor moved through the maintenance corridors. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and wet concrete. They reached the top floor—an executive boardroom overlooking the dark pier. A single man sat at the end of the mahogany table. Director Vance. He didn't look surprised. He was sipping scotch, watching the rain beat against the glass. "Eleanor," Vance said without turning around. "I expected you to be halfway to a non-extradition country by now." "The game is over, Vance," Eleanor said, her voice hard. Vance turned slowly. He looked ordinary. A bureaucrat in a grey suit. But his eyes were completely devoid of life. "The game is never over," Vance said. He looked at Clara. "The daughter. You look remarkably like your mother. Just as stubborn." "You killed them," Clara said. "I protected national security," Vance corrected. "Your father was going to hand our greatest surveillance asset to foreign entities." "That’s a lie," Clara countered. "He was going to destroy it." "Same thing," Vance shrugged. He reached under his jacket. Julian shifted forward, but Vance didn't pull a gun. He pulled a small remote detonator. "The server array beneath this building is already rigged," Vance said calmly. "If I press this, the remaining files burn. And you three die in an unfortunate structural collapse caused by the storm."
