The elevator was empty.
Which was rare for Sovereign Tower. Usually there was at least one person inside—some hedge-fund specter or ghoul checking his portfolio on a burner phone, a trophy wife pretending to be on a call, so she didn't have to acknowledge anyone's existence, a personal trainer hauling kettlebells to a private session on the upper floors.
The building had over a hundred floors and many countless units, and every single one was occupied by someone who believed their time was more valuable than yours.
But right now? Empty. Just Phei, the brushed-steel walls reflecting his silhouette, and the faint mechanical hum of a machine engineered to move rich people vertically at speeds that would have impressed NASA.
This time he wasn't using his private elevator to go to his penthouse after the gym.
He pressed 70.
The button glowed amber. The elevator began its descent from 95 gym floor.
