Chapter 12 - High-Rise Siege
Rain sheeted against the floor-to-ceiling glass of the penthouse suite atop the St. Jude Tower. Cynthia poured herself a glass of vintage scotch, admiring the sprawling Manhattan skyline below. Her face was bandaged where the warehouse fire had burned her cheek, but her lips curled into a victorious sneer as she watched the market ticker on her television screen.
""Ten more minutes,"" she murmured to the empty room. ""And Vance Holdings falls.""
The chime of the private elevator rang.
Cynthia frowned, setting her glass down and reaching for the handgun tucked beneath the marble kitchen counter. The penthouse elevator required biometric authentication. No one had access except her hired broker.
The polished chrome doors slid open smoothly.
Standing inside the elevator was not her broker. Raymond stood there in a tailored gray overcoat, accompanied by four federal marshals with assault rifles raised.
""You're late for your margin call, Cynthia,"" Raymond said softly.
Cynthia raised her gun, but before she could aim, a laser sight painted the center of her chest.
""Drop the weapon!"" the lead marshal bellowed.
Cynthia lowered the gun, her face pale, trembling with fury. ""You can't touch me, Raymond. The shell company is insulated. You have no legal proof!""
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Raymond pulled an envelope from his coat pocket. ""The microchip in Clara's locket had the missing data logs. You're facing sixty counts of treason, murder, and high-level fraud.""
As the marshals stepped forward to handcuff her, Cynthia began to laugh hysterically. ""You think this was about money? Raymond, look at your phone. Look at your house!""
