Chapter 5 - The Inside Job
The revelation hit me like a physical blow to the chest, leaving me completely breathless.
"That is impossible," I argued desperately, shaking my head.
"My father's building requires biometric scanning and triple-encrypted passcodes just to reach the lobby."
The federal agent typed rapidly on his laptop, bringing up a complex grid of security logs.
"Someone used your father’s personal executive override codes to bypass the firewall," he explained.
"There are only three people in the world who possess those specific security credentials."
I closed my eyes, running through the short, exclusive list of trusted individuals.
There was my father, myself, and the chief financial officer of our family empire.
The CFO was a man named Richard Thorne, a lifelong family friend who had practically helped raise me.
"Richard?" I whispered in disbelief, feeling the painful sting of yet another massive betrayal.
"We believe Richard Thorne has been secretly laundering money for David for the past three years," the agent confirmed.
"David was the violent distraction, but Richard was the financial mastermind draining your accounts."
The armored SUV screeched to a sudden halt inside a dark, underground parking garage.
My father was standing near a concrete pillar, surrounded by a dozen heavily armed private security contractors.
He looked ten years older than the last time I had seen him, his face lined with grief and raw fury.
The agents helped me out of the vehicle and placed me gently into a medical wheelchair.
My father knelt beside me, wrapping his strong arms around my trembling shoulders.
"I am so sorry, Sarah," my father choked out, tears shining in his fierce eyes.
"We are going to get Emma back, I promise you on my life."
He stood up and turned to the tactical team, his demeanor shifting from a loving grandfather to a ruthless CEO.
"Richard Thorne is currently hiding in the penthouse suite of his downtown high-rise," my father announced.
"I want that building breached, and I want him brought to me alive."
The tactical team loaded their weapons with synchronized, metallic clicks that echoed through the garage.
I grabbed my father's hand, refusing to be left behind in the dark.
"I am going with you," I demanded, fighting through the agonizing pain in my broken leg.
He looked at my splinted limb and nodded slowly, respecting the fire burning in my eyes.
We loaded into a heavily armored tactical van and sped toward the glowing skyline of the city.
The drive was silent, filled only with the tense, focused energy of men preparing for war.
We arrived at the luxury high-rise, bypassing the front desk and storming the private executive elevators.
The doors slid open on the penthouse floor, revealing an opulent, modern apartment bathed in moonlight.
But the tactical team immediately lowered their weapons, staring in absolute confusion.
Richard Thorne was sitting perfectly still in a leather armchair, holding a smoking gun in his hand.
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He had a massive, fatal gunshot wound to the center of his chest.
And David was standing over the body, holding Emma safely in his arms.
