The glass of the Shard reflected a bruised London sky as Elena stepped out of the taxi. It was 7:00 AM. In the City, that was the start of the second shift for some and the tail end of the first for others. For Elena, it was the first hour of a five-year sentence she had signed willingly.
She approached the security turnstiles. The lobby was a cathedral of white marble and hushed footsteps.
"Elena Vale," she said, presenting her temporary ID to the guard.
the man didn't look at the card. He looked at her. It wasn't the gaze of a bored security guard; it was a look of recognition so sharp it felt like a scan. He pressed a button beneath his desk.
"Welcome, Ms. Vale. Your permanent credentials have been cleared."
He handed her a sleek, black card. It had no photo, no magnetic strip, only the silver embossed logo of Blood Empire Holdings.
"The private lift is to your right," he added. He didn't return to his monitor. He stood at attention until she moved away.
The private lift was lined with brushed obsidian. There were no floor buttons. Instead, a small glass panel lit up at chest height.
Scan required for Level 60.
Elena hesitated. "I haven't submitted biometrics yet," she murmured to the empty car.
A soft red light swept across her face. A second later, the lift chimed. The doors slid shut, and the pressure in her ears shifted as the car ascended with a silent, terrifying velocity.
She stared at her reflection in the dark metal. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, severe knot. Her suit was charcoal, her blouse ivory. She looked the part of a Chief Financial Strategist. But as the floor indicator climbed, a cold knot of logic tightened in her chest. The company had her biometric data. They hadn't asked for it, and she hadn't given it.
The lift opened.
The 60th floor was a vacuum.
If the floors below were the heart of the engine, this was the mind. There was no hum of printers, no distant chatter, no scent of burnt coffee. The air was filtered, chilled, and carried a faint metallic tang.
Glass walls divided the space into massive, minimalist cubes. A few employees moved through the corridors—men and women in tailored suits, moving with a synchronized, rhythmic pace.
As Elena walked toward the executive wing, a pair of analysts stopped talking as she approached. They didn't look away. They watched her with a flat, unblinking intensity until she passed.
"Ms. Vale."
A woman stood at the end of the hall. She was in her fifties, her grey hair pinned back with surgical precision. Marcus, the assistant from the night before, was nowhere to be seen.
"I am Vera. Mr. Dracul's primary coordinator. Your office is through here."
Vera led her past a series of closed doors. They stopped at a suite that sat directly adjacent to the double oak doors of Adrian's office.
"This wasn't on the floor plan I reviewed," Elena noted, stepping inside.
The office was larger than her previous firm's entire conference room. The desk was a slab of grey slate. Through the glass wall to her left, she could see directly into the outer reception area of Adrian's suite.
"The plans were updated last night," Vera said. "Mr. Dracul prefers his strategists within sight."
"I see."
"The restructuring meeting begins in ten minutes. Conference Room A."
Vera turned and left without another word. Elena set her briefcase on the slate desk. She opened her laptop, intending to pull up her preliminary notes, but her eyes were drawn to the corner of the ceiling.
A security camera, more advanced than the standard domes in the lobby, was angled directly at her desk. It didn't rotate. It didn't scan. It was fixed on her chair.
She stared at the lens for a moment, then closed her laptop and headed for the meeting.
The conference room was a theatre of shadows. Adrian sat at the head of a table that could have seated thirty, though only five people were present.
To his left sat a man Elena recognized as Julian Vane, the outgoing Senior VP of Operations. He looked pale, his hands trembling slightly as he toyed with a silver pen.
Adrian didn't look up when Elena entered. He was reading a physical document.
"Sit, Ms. Vale," Adrian said. He didn't raise his voice, yet the room seemed to contract around his words.
Elena took the seat at the opposite end of the table. "I've reviewed the Q3 projections for the logistics subsidiary," she began, opening her folder. "There is a significant leak in the maritime holdings. Three ships are listed as 'in-transit' for six months with no cargo logs. I'm recommending an immediate audit and a freeze on the subsidiary's accounts."
The room went silent. Julian Vane's pen hit the table with a loud clack.
"We don't audit the maritime wing," Julian said, his voice thin. "It's... a legacy holding. Private."
"It's a liability," Elena replied, her gaze moving to Adrian. "If we are restructuring for the estate, we cannot have unmapped assets. The logic doesn't hold."
Adrian finally looked up. His grey eyes were unreadable, reflecting the dim light of the overhead recessed lamps. He looked at Julian, then back to Elena.
"The maritime wing is essential for specific... transfers," Adrian said. "You believe a freeze is the only path?"
"Strictly from a fiscal standpoint, yes," Elena said. "Unless there is a non-monetary value to those ships that outweighs a forty-million-pound deficit."
She waited for the pushback. In her experience, CEOs of Adrian's caliber protected their "legacy" projects with a territorial ferocity.
Adrian held her gaze for five seconds. The silence in the room felt heavy, almost pressurized.
"Julian," Adrian said softly.
"Yes, Adrian?"
"You are relieved. Vera will handle your severance."
Julian Vane turned a shade of white that was nearly translucent. He didn't argue. He didn't beg. He stood up, his chair scraping harshly against the floor, and walked out of the room. He didn't take his briefcase.
Adrian looked back at Elena. "Proceed with the audit."
"I'll need the encryption keys for the maritime servers," Elena said, her pulse steady despite the abruptness of Vane's exit.
"They will be on your desk by noon." Adrian closed his folder. "That is all."
The other executives filed out like ghosts. Elena stayed for a moment, recording a note in her file. When she looked up, Adrian was still sitting there, watching her. He hadn't moved a muscle.
"You have a question," he stated.
"I tried to access the archival files for the Dracul Estate an hour ago. My access was denied."
"Those files are restricted."
"I can't strategize for an estate I can't see, Mr. Dracul."
"You will see what is necessary, when it is necessary," he said. He stood up in one fluid motion. "Focus on the maritime audit. Efficiency is the only thing I reward."
He walked past her. He didn't look back.
By 6:00 PM, the executive floor was nearly empty.
Elena had spent the afternoon digging into the maritime logs. The more she looked, the less sense they made. The ships weren't carrying oil, or grain, or consumer goods. The manifests were coded in a language she didn't recognize—strings of alphanumeric sequences that didn't correspond to any standard shipping manifest.
She stood up and walked toward Adrian's office. She hadn't been summoned, but the audit was stalled without the secondary keys Vera was supposed to deliver.
The heavy oak doors were cracked open. She didn't knock. She stepped inside.
The office was dark, save for the glow of the city through the glass. Adrian was at his desk, but he wasn't working. He was sitting in the dark, his hands resting motionless on the arms of his chair.
He didn't startle. He didn't even blink.
"You're early," he said.
"You hired me for availability," Elena replied. "Vera hasn't delivered the secondary keys. I can't complete the projection without them."
Adrian turned his chair slightly. The light from a distant skyscraper caught the edge of his jaw, highlighting the unnatural perfection of his features.
"The keys are sensitive. I will deliver them myself."
"I can wait."
"No." He stood. "It is late. The City is restless tonight."
"I have work to finish."
"The work will be there tomorrow, Ms. Vale. My employees are expected to maintain their... vitality."
Elena frowned. "I'm not tired."
"I wasn't asking." He walked toward her, stopping just outside her personal space. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as he approached, that same cellar-chill she had noticed the night before. "Go home, Elena."
It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order wrapped in a calm, flat tone.
"I'll see you at eight," she said, yielding to the sheer weight of his authority.
"Eight," he repeated.
The walk to the Underground was a short one, but the evening air felt thick.
As Elena exited the Shard, she paused to pull her coat tighter. Across the street, a black saloon car was idling. Its windows were tinted so darkly they were opaque.
She began walking toward London Bridge station. The rhythmic click of her heels on the pavement seemed louder than usual. She looked into a shop window, using the reflection to check behind her.
The black car was moving. It was crawling along the curb, fifty yards back, matching her pace exactly.
She turned a corner into a narrower street, her heart rate finally beginning to climb. Thrum-thrum. Thrum-thrum. She reached into her bag for her phone, her mind racing through logical explanations. A security detail she hadn't been told about? A disgruntled employee like Julian Vane?
The car turned the corner behind her. Its headlights flickered on, casting long, distorted shadows across the brickwork.
She quickened her pace. The station was only a block away. Just as she reached the mouth of an alleyway that served as a shortcut, she heard a second pair of footsteps. the car brakes abruptly, but a shadow fell over her.
She spun around, her phone held like a weapon.
Adrian Dracul was standing three feet behind her.
He wasn't wearing an overcoat, despite the biting wind. He looked as if he had simply manifested out of the fog. His expression was as blank and controlled as it had been in the boardroom.
Elena took a breath, forcing her heart rate down. "Mr. Dracul. You followed me?"
"The black car," he said, nodding toward the street where the vehicle had suddenly accelerated and disappeared into traffic.
"I noticed it," she said, her voice sharp. "Was that yours?"
"No." Adrian stepped closer. He didn't look at the street; he looked at her neck, then back to her eyes. His nostrils flared slightly, a quick, sharp intake of air. "You shouldn't walk alone."
The streetlights flickered overhead, casting his face into deep relief. He didn't offer to walk her to the station. He didn't explain how he had gotten there so fast. He simply stood there, a silent sentinel in the London cold.
"I can take care of myself," Elena said.
"Can you?" Adrian's voice was a low vibration. "In this city, there are things that do not follow the rules of your spreadsheets, Elena."
He stood perfectly still, his presence eclipsing the noise of the city.
"Get in your train. Lock your door when you arrive."
He watches until she enters the station. he glances toward the rooftops before turning and walking back toward the shadows of the Shard.