Chapter 9 - The Ghost in the Sub-Level and the Blood of the Betrayer
The crimson strobe lights flashed rhythmically against the glass walls of the penthouse, casting long, twisting shadows across the room.
Andrew’s entire demeanor shifted in a microsecond.
The gentle, tender man who had just shown us our new rooms vanished, replaced instantly by the lethal, calculating warlord of the Brooklyn underworld.
“Lock down the residential wing,” Andrew barked into the collar microphone of his suit shirt, his voice sharp and absolute.
“Marcus, seal the blast doors on level three. Nobody enters or leaves the citadel without my personal authorization.”
“Copy that, Boss,” Marcus’s voice crackled back over the static.
“Enforcers are moving to the eastern cliff access now. But Boss… the security logs show the breach code used to bypass the cliff sensors… it wasn't hacked from the outside.”
Andrew stopped dead in his tracks.
His ice-blue eyes narrowed into deadly slits.
“What are you saying, Marcus?”
“It was an internal master override code, Boss,” Marcus replied, sounding grim.
“Only three people in this organization have that code: You, me… and Julian.”
A heavy, suffocating silence settled over the penthouse.
Mommy pulled me closer to her side, her eyes wide with terror as she looked at Andrew.
Julian? The sharp-eyed sniper who had stood by Andrew’s side through every firefight? The man who had helped us breach Ashwood Nursing Home just hours ago?
Andrew didn't shout. He didn't curse.
His face became as cold and expressionless as a granite tombstone.
“Where is Julian right now?” Andrew asked, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly quiet register.
“He was supposed to be monitoring the perimeter cameras from the tactical control room on sub-level two,” Marcus reported rapidly.
“When we checked the monitors just now… he’s gone. And so is the main terminal containing all our offshore financial records and the list of our undercover informants.”
Andrew let out a slow, lethal breath.
“The rat,” Andrew growled, the word tasting like poison on his tongue.
“He didn't just help Sterling. He was the one who sold out Daniel nine years ago on the yacht. He’s been playing both sides of the war for a decade.”
Andrew turned around, his eyes locking onto Mommy and me standing by the doorway of my new bedroom.
He walked over quickly, kneeling down so he was eye-level with me, then looking up at Mommy.
“Eleanor, listen to me,” Andrew commanded, his voice urgent but steady.
“The citadel is entirely secure except for sub-level two. Marcus and my strike team are locking down this floor right now. Stay inside this room, lock the heavy steel door from the inside, and do not open it for anyone—not even Marcus—unless you hear my voice giving the password.”
“What’s the password?” Mommy asked, her voice shaking.
Andrew paused, his gaze softening as he looked down at me, then back up at her.
“Five dollars,” Andrew whispered.
Mommy nodded fiercely, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Be careful, Andrew. Please.”
Andrew stood up, his hand sliding inside his suit jacket to check the grip of his heavy custom sidearm.
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“I’m going to go collect a debt,” Andrew said coldly.
Without another word, he turned and strode out of the penthouse, the heavy steel elevator doors closing behind him with a final, echoing thud.
