Chapter 51: Cuts Like a Knife
NATHAN JANG
The Jang Tower stood hollow in the dead of night, its polished lobby floors reflecting the cold glow of emergency exit signs. The security desk sat unmanned, a half-drunk coffee still steaming next to the silent monitors.
I took my private elevator and pressed the button for the sixtieth floor. The numbers climbed—30, 40, 50—each ding sounding like a countdown. I stepped out of the elevator alone, my jaw tight. Malone had called it an "incident." Knowing Fiona, that meant murdering anything from plants to computers to people.
Moonlight streamed through the wall of windows, painting silver streaks across the empty desks. The executive floor was too quiet. No assistants at their desks. No security at the doors. Just the hum of the air conditioning and the too-loud click of my dress shoes on marble.
I withdrew my cell phone from my jacket’s inner pocket. "Malone? Where are you?"
"Stuck in one of the main elevators. It stopped working between floors. I have to wait for the on-call maintenance crew to get here. Wait for me, Boss. Don’t confront Fiona on your own."
"I’m hanging up."
Malone knew me too well. He could ask for me to stand down, but I wouldn’t. Whatever Fiona was doing, I needed to stop it and then find a way to get rid of her.
I opened my office door.
The air smelled faintly of aged whiskey and polished mahogany and heavy floral scent of Fiona’s perfume. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, offering a panoramic view of the skyline.
A massive, obsidian-black desk commanded the center of the room, its surface immaculate. Behind it, an ergonomic chair upholstered in the finest Italian leather awaited.