Friday, 10:15 AM. The Bunker.
I didn't wait for the private elevator to reach the lobby. I took the stairs down the last three flights of the Vanguard tower, bursting through the emergency exit and sprinting toward the waiting black Maybach. My driver took one look at my face in the rearview mirror and slammed his foot on the gas before my door was even fully closed.
The ride to the underground auto shop our new permanent bunker was a blur of weaving through mid-morning traffic and running red lights. The triumph of breaking Evelyn Cross had evaporated entirely, replaced by a cold, sharp spike of adrenaline.
The SEC was a known entity. They operated within the bounds of the law, bound by subpoenas, jurisdictions, and bureaucratic red tape. Even when Evelyn broke the rules, she did it in a predictable, human way.
