Part 5: Breaking into the Lion's Den
The Vale Corporate Clinic was a fortress of glass and steel situated on a secluded hill outside the city. It was heavily guarded, requiring biometric access at every level.
Fortunately, as an architect, I had designed the renovation of the building's underground ventilation and utility systems three years ago. Elena had insisted I get the contract, wanting to support my career. Vivian had called it "nepotism for a peasant."
Now, that peasant was going to use their own fortress against them.
Dressed in a maintenance uniform I had acquired from Arthur’s contacts, I slipped into the underground access tunnels through a storm drain. The air was damp and cold, but my heart was burning. I carried a backpack containing a medical kit Arthur had prepared—the antidote to the Lazarus peptide, synthesized from the chemical profile Arthur had analyzed earlier.
I navigated the labyrinth of pipes until I reached the service elevator. Using a cloned keycard Arthur had kept from his days as CFO, I bypassed the security lock and rode the elevator up to the penthouse medical suite.
When the doors opened, the hallway was eerily quiet. The alarms were blaring silently in the distance—the FBI was likely raiding the downtown headquarters at this very moment.
I crept down the hall, checking the rooms. Finally, I found her.
Elena lay in a hyperbaric chamber, surrounded by high-tech monitoring equipment. Her skin was pale again, the machines artificially suppressing her system.
But I wasn't alone.
"I knew you'd come through the basement," a voice said from the shadows.
Marcus stepped out, holding a small, silver pistol. His eyes were bloodshot, his tie loosened. He looked like a man who knew his empire was crumbling. "You always were predictable, Daniel. The romantic hero coming to save his princess."
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"It's over, Marcus," I said, keeping my hands visible. "The FBI is at your headquarters. Your stocks are worthless. The whole world knows what Project Lazarus is."
"Not yet they don't," Marcus snarled, pointing the gun at my chest. "If Elena dies now, and the baby's cord blood is extracted, we have enough buyers in Asia to disappear with three billion dollars. You're just a tragic footnote—the grieving husband who went mad and shot his wife before killing himself."
