Chapter 4 - The Underground Terminal
The screen flickered, displaying grainy night-vision footage recorded three nights ago from the hotel’s subterranean service elevator.
The elevator didn't just go down to the parking garage. It connected to an old subterranean rail line that ran beneath the financial district—a private transit tunnel originally built by Alexander’s grandfather, currently marked as structurally sealed on city zoning maps.
On the screen, a figure in a dark courier cap and oversized coat pushed a medical wheelchair out of the service lift. Sitting upright in the chair, looking pale, fragile, but undeniably alive, was Elena Whitmore.
A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom. Several elderly board members clutched their chests.
“That’s… that’s the sub-basement freight lift,” Alexander whispered, staring at the screen as tears finally broke free and tracked down his cheeks. “That tunnel was walled off after the merger.”
“Walled off for the city, yes, but accessible if you have the override keys kept in the managing director’s private safe,” I replied, looking pointedly at Cynthia, whose sisterly panic had now evolved into sheer terror. “Vanessa and Cynthia didn't just fake a pregnancy for a corporate heist. They were holding a real person captive in the hotel’s abandoned sub-levels, using her preserved medical materials to validate their scam, while keeping her silenced so she couldn't claim her rightful shares.”
Vanessa shrieked, lunging toward me like a cornered animal, but my guards caught her arms, forcing her back into a chair. “You ruined everything! You stupid, interfering nobody!” she screamed, abandoning all pretense of elegance.
Alexander didn't look at Vanessa. He didn't look at Cynthia. He turned to me, his eyes blazing with a fierce, terrifying determination.
“Where is she right now?” Alexander asked, his voice shaking.
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“My team secured the sub-level perimeter ten minutes before I brought my daughter into the ballroom,” I replied evenly. “My senior tactical lead is down there right now, opening the containment door.”
Alexander didn't wait another second. He tore off his tuxedo jacket, threw it onto the floor, and bolted toward the service stairwell at the back of the ballroom, sprinting down toward the dark foundations of the building.
