Chapter 3 - The Ghost Protocol
They needed me dead to validate the forged transfer of the resort.
I stared at the glowing screen, realizing the depth of their violent conspiracy.
If I did not stop the final board vote tonight, the cartel would take legal possession of everything my family had built.
I heard the heavy steel handle of the server room door suddenly rattle.
The mercenaries were outside, trying to bypass the electronic lock with a decryption device.
I looked around the room frantically, searching for a secondary exit.
There was a narrow ventilation grate near the ceiling, just wide enough for me to fit through.
I stacked two heavy server boxes on top of each other and climbed up toward the metal grate.
I pulled out my grandfather's badge and used the sharp edge to unscrew the heavy bolts.
The door hinges behind me began to groan loudly under the pressure of a hydraulic breaching tool.
I kicked the grate open, hauled my bruised body into the dusty air duct, and pulled the metal cover back into place.
Seconds later, the steel door blew open, and three armed men stormed into the server room.
I held my breath in the cramped, dark space, praying that no blood dripped from my face onto the floor below.
"She isn't here," one of the mercenaries barked into his radio.
"Keep looking, she is injured and cannot get far," Daniel's cold voice replied over the comms.
I crawled silently through the ductwork for twenty minutes until I reached the IT department.
I dropped down into an empty cubicle and crawled toward the office of Arthur, our oldest systems architect.
Arthur had been fiercely loyal to my grandfather for thirty years.
I peaked my head over his desk and saw him typing rapidly on his keyboard.
"Arthur," I whispered desperately from the shadows.
He spun around in his chair, his eyes widening in absolute, terrified shock.
"Elena, you need to leave right now," Arthur stammered, his face pale and sweating.
"I need your help to lock Daniel out of the mainframe," I pleaded, stepping out into the light.
Arthur slowly shook his head and pointed a shaking finger at his computer monitor.
"I cannot help you, Elena," he whispered brokenly.
May you like
He turned the monitor toward me, revealing a live video feed from a dark basement room.
The screen showed Arthur's teenage daughter tied to a metal chair with a gun pointed at her head.
