The elevator descended silently, fifty-two floors feeling like mere seconds as David Harrison stared impassively at the polished brass doors. His reflection stared back, composed and elegant in his tailored black overcoat. The subtle weight of the holstered gun pressed against his ribs—a reminder of purpose, of inevitability.
When the doors parted on the private underground garage, Reed was waiting beside the luxury sedan, door already open. Rain drummed against the concrete outside, creating a symphony of white noise that would mask their departure.
"Sir," Reed acknowledged with a curt nod. Tall, with military-precise posture and eyes that revealed nothing, Reed had been with David for eight years. He didn't ask questions. He simply executed.
David slid into the backseat, the leather cool against his palms. The privacy partition was already raised, sealing him away from the driver. Perfect. He needed these moments to focus, to prepare.
