When six-year-old Mara Bell whispered that her hands hurt, the discreet camera mounted above the foyer was already streaming every second to her father's phone. / Chapter 14 / 20

Chapter 14 - The CleanersGlass shattered out in the hallway as high-caliber rounds tore through the antechamber. Marcus grabbed Owen by the collar and hauled him behind the massive, reinforced oak doors of the boardroom, kicking them shut and throwing the heavy deadbolt.

"We need a way out, now!" Marcus yelled over the deafening roar of gunfire tearing the hallway apart. Bullets punched through the drywall, sending plumes of white dust and wood splinters into the air.

"The executive elevator!" Owen shouted, pointing toward the private alcove in the corner of the room.

"Too slow! They'll trap us in a metal box!" Marcus fired three blind shots through the door to keep the attackers at bay.

Greg was curled into a ball beneath the glass boardroom table, whimpering. The smug cartel money launderer was suddenly realizing that to a billion-dollar criminal enterprise, he was just another loose end.

Suddenly, the gunfire in the hallway stopped. A heavy, terrifying silence fell over the penthouse.

"Marcus..." a woman’s voice called out from the other side of the bullet-riddled door.

Owen’s blood turned to ice. He knew that voice.

"Elena," Owen breathed.

"You didn't think a few zip-ties and some corrupt SWAT cops would keep me down, did you, Owen?" Elena's voice was laced with sadistic glee. "The cartel pays me a hell of a lot more than Greg ever did. And my new contract says nobody leaves this floor alive."

Boom!

A breaching charge detonated against the boardroom doors, blowing them off their hinges in a cloud of smoke and fire. Marcus was thrown backward, crashing hard against the wall.

Through the thick gray smoke, three men in tactical gear poured into the room, armed with submachine guns. Behind them stepped Elena, her head wrapped in a bloody bandage from where Owen had struck her, holding an assault rifle.

"Kill them all," Elena ordered, pointing at Owen and Marcus. She didn't even look at Greg.

Owen didn't think; he reacted. He lunged toward the AV control panel on the wall and slammed his fist onto the 'EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN' button.

The entire penthouse plunged into total darkness. The emergency steel blast-shutters, designed to protect the servers from hurricane-force winds, slammed down over the floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking out the midday sun.

"Night vision!" Elena barked in the darkness.

But Owen had built the room. He knew exactly where everything was. He dropped to his hands and knees, crawling frantically toward the heavy glass table where Greg was hiding.

"Owen!" Greg sobbed in the dark, grabbing Owen's ankle. "Help me! Please!"

"You're on your own," Owen hissed, ripping his leg free.

Gunfire lit up the pitch-black room in strobing flashes of orange, tearing the expensive leather chairs to shreds. Marcus returned fire, aiming for the muzzle flashes.

Owen reached the private alcove. He slammed his hand against the wall, finding the hidden maintenance panel. He ripped the cover off and pulled a heavy red lever.