Four hours after my wife’s funeral, my daughter threw her old savings passbook into the trash and said, “Mom never had any real money.” I quietly picked it up and went to the bank. The moment the director saw the account number, he locked the door and called the police.

The massive digital billboards displaying my face as a wanted murderer confirmed exactly how powerful Mason had become.

He had completely weaponized the media and the corrupt local police to ensure I could never ask for public help.

I parked the stolen FBI vehicle in a dark alley a block away from my towering corporate headquarters.

Brenda looked up at the towering glass building, terrified by the sheer number of armed guards patrolling the main lobby.

I told her that my company was a fortress, but I was the architect who had designed every single flaw in its armor.

I led her to a massive steel grating covering a forgotten subterranean drainage pipe that I had intentionally left off the official city blueprints.

We pulled the heavy grate aside and climbed down into the damp, echoing darkness of the service tunnels.

We navigated the labyrinth of pipes and electrical cables until we reached the sub-basement of the skyscraper.

I used a master override code I had memorized twenty years ago to bypass the electronic security door.

We stepped into the sterile, brightly lit service corridors that ran behind the walls of the corporate offices.

I knew Mason was hosting the emergency board meeting in the grand ballroom on the fiftieth floor.

My granddaughter was supposedly locked in my private executive suite on the fifty-fifth floor.

I looked at Brenda and told her we had to split up if we wanted to save her daughter and stop the takeover.

I handed her the suppressed pistol we had taken from Agent Vance and gave her the service elevator override key.

I told her to go to the penthouse, secure the child, and lock themselves inside the panic room until it was over.

Brenda hugged me tightly, her tears soaking my ruined suit jacket, before disappearing into the elevator shaft.

I took a deep breath, gripping Florence’s 9mm pistol, and headed toward the main AV control room overlooking the ballroom.

I slipped past two heavily armed mercenaries standing guard by using the hidden ventilation access panels.

I dropped into the control room behind the lone technician, pressing the barrel of my gun firmly against the back of his neck.

I ordered him to stay perfectly quiet and step away from the massive broadcasting console.

I plugged Florence’s flash drive into the main server and quickly queued up her video confession and the cartel's financial ledgers.

Through the soundproof glass, I could see the grand ballroom filled with my board of directors, wealthy investors, and corrupt politicians.

Mason was standing at the podium, looking incredibly sharp in a tailored tuxedo, projecting an image of profound grief.

He was wiping away fake tears as he told the crowd that my sudden, violent mental breakdown had ended in my tragic suicide.

He raised the forged power of attorney documents, preparing to sign away my life’s work to a shadow corporation.

I placed my finger over the broadcast button, ready to expose him to the entire room.

The Billionaire Put On a Waiter’s Apron to Test His Fiancée, but the Wom...

My father bet twenty dollars that I would walk through his front door al...

My Husband Slapped Me Out of His House for His Mistress, Then the Most F...

Before I could press it, the heavy metal door of the control room was kicked completely off its hinges.

Mason’s head of security, a massive man covered in scars, walked in and aimed a heavy shotgun directly at my face.

Chapter 8 - The Hostile Takeover