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Chapter 702
Chapter 702:
Isolde slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, knees pulled to her chest. Her fingers trembled slightly. She forced her analytical mind to assess the variables — to consider the possibility that it was nothing more than an aviation warning light reflecting off the glass. But bypassing the Four Seasons’ elite security grid and physically planting a device on a penthouse balcony required an inside operative, military-grade hardware, and an extraordinary appetite for risk. This was not a standard corporate espionage probe.
Her gut knew the truth. The threat was real.
She moved to the marble bathroom, turned on the cold tap, and splashed freezing water onto her face. She gripped the edges of the sink and stared at her own reflection — pale, exhausted, afraid. There was nothing she could do in the dark. She would wait for daylight and have Maxwell’s team sweep the balcony.
Isolde walked into the bedroom. She did not change her clothes. She lay down on top of the heavy duvet, reached into her briefcase, and produced a solid steel tactical pen. She gripped it tightly in her right hand and rested it against her chest.
She closed her eyes. Sleep was impossible. Every time she began to drift, the image of that pulsing red dot burned behind her eyelids.
Thirty floors below, parked in a dark alley behind the hotel, sat a nondescript black utility van.
Inside, the air smelled of stale coffee and ozone. Three men in heavy headsets sat before a bank of glowing monitors.
The lead operative slammed his fist against the console.
“We lost the visual feed,” he said, his voice tight with frustration as his fingers flew across the keyboard. “Target recognized the bounce. She shut it down p>
A cold, mechanical prompt blinked on the main screen.
𝘔𝗈r𝗲 𝘯o𝗏е𝘭𝘴 𝗈𝗇 𝘨𝘢𝗅n𝘰𝗏еlѕ.𝗰о𝗺
TARGET DEVICE DISCONNECTED. DATA EXTRACTION HALTED AT 14 p>
He picked up a burner phone and dialed a secure New York number. He had to report the failure to the man paying them.
At exactly seven in the morning, a sharp, authoritative knock echoed through the penthouse.
Isolde snapped awake. Her fingers tightened instantly around the cold metal of the tactical pen. Her body was stiff from sleeping in her clothes on top of the duvet.
She crossed to the door and looked through the peephole. Maxwell stood in the hallway. Beside him was a man in a dark suit and tactical vest.
Isolde unlatched the chain and pulled the door open.
Maxwell did not offer his usual greeting. His jaw was set like granite, his blue eyes dark with suppressed fury.
He stepped into the room, bringing the security chief with him.
“Initiate a full TSCM sweep,” Maxwell ordered, his voice clipped and precise.
Isolde felt her stomach drop. The doubt she had forced on herself through the night evaporated. The red dot had been real.
She walked to the mahogany desk and placed her hand flat on the closed lid of her laptop.
“What happened, Maxwell?” Isolde asked. Her voice was remarkably steady despite the cold fear gripping her chest.
Maxwell turned to face her.
“The hotel’s master security grid was breached at two in the morning,” he stated grimly. “The hackers used a zero-day exploit to loop the camera feeds on the penthouse floor. They created a ten-minute blind spot p>
A high-pitched, piercing whine suddenly filled the room.