Chapter 14 - The Ghost of Marcus Thorne
I stared at the monitor as Dmitri Rostov and his accomplice easily bypassed the perimeter keypad using an encrypted military-grade radio frequency scrambler. The heavy steel service door clicked open with a muffled mechanical thud, and they vanished into the building's basement stairwell.
“Graham,” I said, my voice dropping an octave into absolute operational calm. “Lock down the penthouse elevator shafts. Route all power through the secondary backup generator in the sub-basement.”
“Already on it, Mrs. Calder,” Graham replied from the security control room downstairs. “Julian and I are sealing the primary corridor. Stay in the study, keep your weapon drawn, and do not open the door for anyone unless they give the daily verification code.”
I set the encrypted phone down and reached into the mahogany desk drawer, pulling out the heavy steel-framed Browning 9mm. I checked the magazine slot—fully loaded with hollow-points.
Julian walked into the study a moment later, breathing heavily, holding his stainless steel revolver ready. “The security feeds just went dead on floors two through five. They’re using the service elevator shaft to bypass the biometric gates.”
“They’re not here for a corporate hostile takeover, Julian,” I said, looking up at him with grim determination. “They’re here because Marcus Thorne’s estate was never legally closed. Someone in the international probate courts is trying to invalidate the original asset transfers from 1991.”
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Julian’s face went pale. “If those asset transfers are invalidated... every single building, every retirement facility, and every dollar of Calder Senior Living legally reverts to Marcus Thorne’s surviving bloodline.”
“Which means,” I added quietly, “whoever controls that bloodline owns the entire company outright. And right now, Dmitri Rostov is here to make sure there are no surviving Calder executives left to contest the claim.”
