Jack skidded to a halt, yanking Elisabeth back by her sleeve before they rounded the corner. His heart hammered against his ribs as he pressed against the wall, the marble cool through his worn t-shirt. Ten guards. Each one built like a linebacker, armed, and blocking his path to salvation.
"Damn," Elisabeth whispered, peering around him. "That's the entire security detail. Someone must have called ahead."
Jack's mind raced, calculating angles and exits like his father taught him. The wide hallway offered no cover, just pristine white walls and massive abstract paintings probably worth more than his apartment building.
A guard's radio crackled. "Subject last seen on security camera B heading to the executive floor. All units maintain position."
"Wait." Elisabeth touched his arm. "The executive washroom. It connects to my father's private corridor behind the office."
"Your father has a private corridor?"
"Welcome to corporate royalty." She rolled her eyes. "The washroom's through that door, but we'll need a distraction to cross the hall."
Jack scanned their surroundings, gaze landing on a sleek touchscreen panel mounted on the wall. "What's that control?"
"Environmental systems. Lights, temperature, fire suppression-" Elisabeth's eyes widened. "Oh."
"Can you trigger the sprinklers?"
"Better." Her fingers flew across the screen. "I can trigger the fire alarm for this floor only. Security protocol requires they clear and secure the area."
Jack watched the guards, their fingers resting near weapons, faces stern with purpose. "They won't all leave their post."
"No, but they'll have to spread out to check the floor. Standard procedure." She input a final command. "Ready?"
He nodded, muscles tensing.
The alarm split the air with an ear-piercing wail. Strobing lights bathed the corridor in harsh flashes. The guards' heads snapped up.
"Teams of two, sweep the floor," the lead guard barked. "Williams, Chen - maintain position here."
Jack counted as the guards paired off, disappearing down adjoining halls. Two remained, backs straight, hands on their weapons.
"Now what?" he breathed.
Elisabeth slipped off her heels. "Now we run."
She bolted across the hall, bare feet silent on the marble. Jack followed, keeping low. The guards' shouts were lost under the screaming alarm as they sprinted for the wooden door marked "Executive Washroom."
Elisabeth slammed through it, Jack on her heels. The bathroom was bigger than his bedroom, all gleaming gold fixtures and black marble. Elisabeth ran to a panel beside the mirror, pressing her palm flat against it. A section of wall swung inward with a soft click.
"Hurry," she hissed, shoving him through the hidden door into a narrow corridor lined with rich mahogany.
They emerged behind a massive desk in an equally massive office. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a dizzying view of the city far below. Jack's target sat just ahead - the president's office door, emblazoned with the Altiar Industries logo.
But between them and that door stood a final obstacle. A man in an impeccable suit had risen from behind the desk, his weathered face a mask of cold fury as he stared at the intruders who'd breached his inner sanctum.
"Elisabeth Grace Thornfield," Lawrence Thornfield's voice cut through the distant alarm. "What is the meaning of this?"
Elisabeth stepped forward, hands raised. "Dad, I can explain-"
A blur of motion caught Jack's eye - pure instinct took over. He grabbed Elisabeth's waist, pulling her tight against him as he spun them both away from Marcus's lightning-fast strike. The security chief's fist whooshed past where they'd stood a split-second before.
Marcus's eyes widened, professional assessment replacing his initial rage. Jack recognized that look - the same one his father wore during their "games," when Jack had done something unexpected.
"Behind me," Jack murmured, releasing Elisabeth. She backed away as he squared off against Marcus.
Marcus struck first - a precise combination that would have dropped most opponents. But Jack's body moved on autopilot, muscle memory from countless hours training with his father. He slipped the first punch, blocked the second, countered with a strike of his own that Marcus barely avoided.
"Military training?" Marcus's voice carried grudging respect as they circled each other. "Special forces?"
Jack didn't answer, focused on reading Marcus's stance, the micro-tensions that telegraphed his next move. Just like Dad taught him. The memory hit like a punch to the gut - all those "games" hadn't been games at all. They'd been preparation.
Marcus launched another assault. Jack deflected, redirected, looking for openings that never appeared. The older man moved with brutal efficiency, no energy wasted. Jack managed to land a glancing blow to Marcus's ribs, but the victory was short-lived.
Marcus's leg swept out in a devastating arc. Jack saw it coming but couldn't move fast enough. The kick caught him square in the chest, sending him crashing to the marble floor. His head cracked against the stone, vision swimming as Marcus loomed over him.
"Good technique," Marcus said, pressing his knee into Jack's sternum. "But you telegraph your counters. Three seconds slower on that first dodge and you'd have a crushed windpipe."
"Let him go!" Elisabeth's voice cracked through the office. "Marcus, he's Elias's grandson!"
The pressure on Jack's chest vanished. Marcus stepped back, face unreadable as he studied Jack with new eyes.
"Thomas Reeves's boy," Marcus said softly. "I should have recognized those moves. Your father was one of my best students."
Jack struggled to his feet, head spinning. "You knew my dad?"
"Trained him myself, years ago. Before he left the service." Marcus's expression softened slightly. "He had the same bad habit with his counters."
"Marcus." Lawrence Thornfield's voice cut through the moment. "Perhaps we should all discuss this situation like civilized people. Elisabeth, young man - please, have a seat."
Jack glanced at Elisabeth, who gave him a small nod. His ribs ached as he lowered himself into one of the leather chairs facing Lawrence's desk. Marcus took up position by the door, watching Jack with that same calculating look.
The pieces were falling into place - his father's "games," the combat training disguised as play. But why had a factory worker needed special forces training? And why did everyone in this tower seem to know more about his father than he did?
The door burst open. Guards flooded the office, weapons drawn and aimed at Jack's head. Elisabeth grabbed his arm, but Marcus pulled her back.
Jack's muscles tensed, ready to move. His father's training screamed at him to act, but the rational part of his brain knew there was nowhere to go. Not with six armed men blocking every exit.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Measured. Deliberate. The guards shifted, creating a path through their formation.
A tall figure emerged from the shadows. Silver hair caught the morning light streaming through the windows. The man's presence filled the room, commanding attention without saying a word. His gray-blue eyes - the same shade as Jack's - swept over the scene with cold calculation.
Jack's throat went dry. He'd seen that face before, on magazine covers and news broadcasts. The man who'd abandoned his mother. The man whose blood ran through his veins.
"Grandfather." The word felt foreign on his tongue.
Elias Altiar's gaze locked onto Jack. His expression revealed nothing as he studied every detail of his grandson's face. The silence stretched, heavy with decades of unspoken words.
"So." Elias's voice was deep, cultured. "You've made quite an entrance. Breaking into my building. Assaulting my head of security." His eyes flicked to Elisabeth. "And corrupting Lawrence's daughter in the process."
"I wasn't-"
"Though I must admit," Elias continued, "your infiltration showed... promise. Marcus rarely praises anyone's combat skills."
Jack's hands clenched into fists. "I didn't come here for your approval."
"No?" Elias raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me, Jackson Reeves. Why are you searching for me?"
The question hung in the air between them. Jack thought of his mother in that hospital bed, growing weaker each day. Of the experimental treatment that could save her life. Of sixteen years of struggle while this man lived in luxury.
"Because you owe us." Jack stood, ignoring the guards' weapons tracking his movement. "You owe my mother her life."
Something flickered across Elias's face - too quick to read. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
"Your mother's medical records." He placed the paper on Lawrence's desk. "Stage four metastatic cancer. Experimental treatment available at Mayo Clinic. Cost: eighty thousand dollars."
Jack's blood ran cold. "How did you-"
"I've known about your mother's condition for weeks." Elias's voice hardened. "Just as I've known about every major event in her life since she left."
"Then why didn't you help her?" Jack's voice cracked. "Why let her suffer?"
"Because she made her choice twenty years ago." Elias stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "And now you have a choice to make."
He reached into his jacket again, producing a thick envelope. "This contains enough money for your mother's treatment. It's yours, no strings attached."
Jack's heart pounded. This was what he came for. The means to save his mother's life.
"Or," Elias continued, pulling out a second envelope, "you can accept this instead. Inside is an offer. A chance to earn not just the treatment money, but your rightful place in this family. To become what you were born to be."
He held out both envelopes. "Choose carefully, grandson. This offer expires the moment you walk out that door."
Jack stared at the envelopes, his father's words echoing in his mind: Sometimes the right choice is the hardest one.