Chapter 15
The Vanguard Tower pierced the stormy night sky like a massive spear of black glass and steel. It was a fortress of modern wealth, guarded by elite private security and state-of-the-art surveillance. Richard Sterling, a billionaire who considered himself a god among men, believed his stronghold was impenetrable.
He was wrong.
At 3:00 AM, the power grid for the top ten floors of the Vanguard Tower suddenly failed. The backup generators did not kick in. The digital security cameras flatlined, displaying nothing but static.
In the opulent, sprawling office on the 80th floor, Richard Sterling sat behind a massive desk carved from a single block of obsidian. He was sixty, with silver hair and sharp, predatory eyes. When the lights cut out, plunging the room into darkness, he didn't panic. He calmly reached for the heavy silver revolver resting in his desk drawer.
"Security," Sterling barked into his intercom. "Report."
There was no answer. Only the soft hiss of static.
Then, the heavy mahogany doors of his office swung open. They didn't burst open with explosives; they were pushed open slowly, silently, with a terrifying confidence.
Lightning flashed outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the silhouette of Sylvester Stallone standing in the doorway. He was flanked by Victor and three other heavily armed men. They wore night-vision goggles, moving through the dark like wraiths.
Sterling raised the revolver, aiming directly at Stallone’s chest. "I have fifty armed guards in this building, Sylvester. You won't make it to the elevator."
"Your guards are currently asleep on the 75th floor," Stallone said calmly, walking into the room. He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't need to. His mere presence consumed the oxygen in the room. "The ventilation system was quite susceptible to aerosolized halothane."
Sterling’s finger tightened on the trigger, but before he could fire, Victor moved. A suppressed shot coughed in the dark. The bullet shattered Sterling’s wrist. The billionaire screamed, dropping the revolver as blood sprayed across his pristine obsidian desk.
Stallone walked over and picked up the revolver. He unloaded it, dropping the bullets onto the floor, and tossed the empty gun aside. He grabbed Sterling by the collar of his silk shirt, dragging him effortlessly across the desk and slamming him into the glass of the window.
"Where is my brother, Richard?" Stallone growled, pressing his forearm against Sterling’s throat.
Sterling gasped for air, clutching his bleeding wrist. Despite the pain, a sickening, arrogant smile twisted his face. "You’re too late, Sylvester. Evelyn Cross was a fool. She thought she could control your empire. I knew better. I knew you needed leverage."
"Where is he?" Stallone roared, slamming Sterling against the glass hard enough to make the reinforced pane groan.
"Safe," Sterling choked out, spitting blood onto the glass. "Hidden. You kill me, you’ll never find him. The drop-dead protocol is active. If I don't enter my biometric code every twelve hours, the ventilation in his cell shuts off. He suffocates in the dark."
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Stallone’s eyes burned with a murderous rage. He wanted to throw the billionaire through the glass and watch him fall eighty stories. But the image of the blood-stained pocket watch anchored his fury. Sterling was the only key to saving Vincent.
"Victor," Stallone said, stepping back and letting Sterling slump to the floor. "Bag him. We’re taking him to the warehouse. He’s going to tell us exactly where that cage is, even if I have to peel his skin off to get the answer."
