The pneumatic seal of the vault door engaged with a heavy hiss that resonated through the sub-basement of the LanceCorp headquarters. Lawrence stood in the center of a windowless room that appeared on no official building blueprints. He stared at the rows of filing cabinets that lined three walls from the floor to the ceiling."Your father commissioned this space in 1997," Kent said. His voice sounded flat and clinical in the soundproofed room. "It was right after the first Sentinel operation became public and nearly ended his career. He made a vow that he would never allow himself to be that vulnerable again."Lawrence walked toward the nearest cabinet and gripped the handle of a heavy drawer. It slid open to reveal dozens of leather-bound ledgers. Each spine bore gold-stamped years. 1987-1989. 1990-1992. He pulled one out and opened the cover. The pages were filled with the handwriting of his father. The ink recorded dates, specific locations, transaction amounts, and the names of h

Marcus Webb did not possess the typical silhouette of a private investigator. He bore the appearance of a senior literature professor, complete with wire-rimmed glasses, a soft cardigan sweater, and a graying beard that he kept trimmed . When he sat across from Lawrence in the secure conference room, however, his eyes remained sharp ."Viktor Kaine," Webb began, opening a heavy leather portfolio. "He is former French Foreign Legion with a specialty in unconventional warfare. He moved into private military contracting in 2001 and then went entirely independent by 2007. Since that transition, he has been connected to seventeen different assassinations, although no legal proof has ever surfaced. The man is essentially a ghost.""I am already well-acquainted with his professional history," Lawrence replied. "What I require are his vulnerabilities."Webb allowed a small, gentle smile to touch his lips. "Every human being has vulnerabilities, Mr. Stiff. The real question is whether you poss

The Geneva International Children’s Foundation gala occupied a palace that loomed over the black glass of Lake Geneva. Lawrence adjusted the cuff of his tailored tuxedo as he entered the ballroom. Erik followed a few paces behind, coordinating with two security personnel who drifted toward the exits to establish a perimeter."Sebastian Cross arrived before us," Erik said, his voice a low vibration beneath the orchestral music. "He is currently in the northeast corner, positioned at the center of a dense circle of admirers."Lawrence located him without effort. Sebastian stood with a crown of silver hair. He was holding court with a cluster of high-net-worth donors. As their eyes met across the expanse of the room, Sebastian lifted his champagne glass in a silent, mocking salute."Keep your eyes open," Lawrence told his team. "He is not here merely to drink vintage Cristal. He has a script for this evening."The gala proceeded with the predictable, suffocating rhythm of a high-society

Lawrence exited the LanceCorp headquarters at thirty minutes past eleven. Erik maintained a steady pace three steps behind him. Two other security guards moved in a wider formation, their silhouettes stretching long against the pillars.The Mercedes sat in Lawrence’s reserved bay. Erik moved ahead to clear the perimeter of the vehicle while Lawrence paused, illuminated by the cold blue light of his smartphone as he hammered out a final email. The garage felt cavernous, filled only with the mechanical drone of the ventilation system and the muffled, rhythmic pulse of the city streets above.The peace vanished with the violent crystallization of the Mercedes's rear window.Erik moved with a speed that defied his bulk, tackling Lawrence to the oily concrete floor just as a second projectile carved a furrow into the car's roof. Had Lawrence remained standing, the round would have caught him squarely in the temple. Shards of safety glass rained down like frozen diamonds, clicking against t

Dr. Hart sent the emergency request at two in the morning. "I need to see you tomorrow at 8 AM. This is non-negotiable."Lawrence read the message. He was still wearing the charcoal suit from the day before, sitting motionless at a desk crowded by three glowing monitors. Financial spreadsheets filled the screens with rows of red numbers, and an empty bottle of Balvenie sat next to his keyboard like a spent shell casing. He had been awake for thirty-six hours without a break, dissecting the structural flaws in Sebastian’s debt and trading encrypted data with the team Isabelle had assembled.He typed a short response. "I cannot make it. There is too much happening right now."The reply arrived before he could even set the phone down. "This is not a suggestion, Lawrence. You will be here at 8 AM or I will walk into your office and conduct the session in front of your staff."Lawrence deleted the thread and forced his attention back to the spreadsheets. He tried to calculate his sleep sch