Lucas POV
The air in the security hub of the Grand Baltic was sterile, humming with the low-frequency drone of a dozen server racks. I stood with my arms crossed, watching the wall of monitors. My Agnosia was quiet this morning, but the silence of my body felt like a warning in itself.
"I don't care about the privacy protocols, Tyler," I said, my voice cutting through the hum of the room. "Someone bypassed a biometric lock and entered my suite while I was incapacitated. That isn't a 'glitch.' That's a targeted strike."
Tyler sat in the operator's chair, his expensive silk shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He was a master of the digital world, the architect of TC Empire, and the only person I trusted to touch my personal data. His fingers danced across the keyboard, his face illuminated by the blue light of the screens.
"Relax, Lucas. I'm deep-diving the server now," Tyler muttered. "But whoever did this knew the blind spots. Look at the corridor cam for 12:45 AM."
I leaned in. The footage was grainy. A figure appeared at the end of the hall. She was swaying, with erratic movement. But as she reached the door to my suite, the screen flickered. A jagged line of static tore through the image, and by the time it cleared, the hallway was empty.
"The feed was looped," Tyler said, spinning his chair around. "A professional bypass. Someone in the hotel's IT department, or someone who bought them, wanted her in that room. But here's the kicker: she doesn't look like an assassin. She looks like a victim."
"She was drugged," I said, the memory of that metallic, sweet scent hitting me. "A cartel-grade sedative, likely sourced from the border. But if she wasn't the weapon, what was the goal? Blackmail? A scandal to hand to Uncle Spencer?"
"If it was blackmail, the photos would be on the front page of the Flensburg tabloids by now," Tyler pointed out. He stood up, his playful demeanor now replaced by the sharp, calculating look. "But the silence is louder, isn't it? No demands. No leaks. Just a note of apology."
I thought of the crumpled stationery in my pocket. "I need her identified. If Spencer is using a civilian to bridge the gap into my private life, I need to know who she is before he pulls the trigger on his next move."
"I'm running facial recognition on the street-level cameras," Tyler said, heading for the door. "Give me twenty-four hours. In the meantime, you have a corporation to lead. Brandon says the shareholders for ZigLan Rigs are already waiting at the harbor. They want to hear about the Nile Town expansion, not your security breaches."
I nodded, my jaw tightening. He was right. The Elliott family trolls were circling, and any sign of distraction would be seen as a crack in the ice.
...
The drive to Nile town was a blur of gray German sky and industrial steel. As we pulled into the ZigLan Rigs complex, the massive oil platforms rose from the Baltic Sea like iron cathedrals.
Brandon met me at the entrance, his tablet already active. "The Nile Town data is ready, sir. But Uncle Spencer is already here. He's brought Mr. Anderson. They're questioning the safety protocols of the new rigs."
"They're looking for a weakness," I said, stepping out of the car.
The wind off the sea was brutal, the kind of cold that usually sent my Agnosia into a tailspin. I waited for the seizure to lock my muscles and cloud my mind.
But it didn't come.
I felt a strange, terrifyingly stable clarity. It was as if the encounter in the hotel had acted as a temporary reset for my nervous system. I didn't understand it, and that lack of understanding was the only thing that made me feel vulnerable.
"Lucas!" Uncle Spencer called out, standing near the edge of the pier with the politician, Anderson. The wind whipped his hair, making him look frantic and small against the backdrop of my rigs. "We were just discussing the... instability of your recent investments. Mr. Anderson here is concerned that your condition might lead to a catastrophic error in the Nile Town sector."
I walked toward them with long strides. I didn't look like a man with a disorder. I looked like the owner of the world they were standing on.
"My condition, Spencer, is none of your concern," I said, stopping inches from his face. "What should concern you is why the safety audits for your sector are currently three months overdue. Mr. Anderson, I assume you value results over rumors?"
The politician blinked, caught off guard by my bluntness. "Results are paramount, of course, Mr. Elliott."
"Then watch the monitors," I said, gesturing to the massive digital display on the rig's side. "By the end of this quarter, ZigLan Rigs will be the primary energy provider for the entire northern soil. And anyone standing in the way of that progress will be removed."
I turned my back on them, heading toward the control center. I had won the confrontation, but as I walked, my mind drifted back to the hotel.
I didn't want to find her because I was obsessed. I wanted to find her because she was a variable I couldn't control. And in the world of the Elliott family, an uncontrolled variable was a death sentence.
"Brandon," I said quietly as we entered the elevator.
"Yes, sir?"
"When Tyler finds her name... I don't want a report. I want her brought to the Elliott Mansion. We're going to find out exactly who sent her, and what they think they bought with one night of my life."