Chapter 7 - THE DAWN ASSAULT
At 5:45 a.m., the sky over Beverly Hills was painted in bruised shades of purple and gold.
Daniel’s black G-Wagon rolled quietly through the iron security gates of the Whitmore estate, passing up the winding stone driveway without turning on its headlights. In the back seat, Noah was fast asleep, wrapped in Andrew’s heavy tactical jacket.
Andrew sat in the front passenger seat, adjusting the collar of his black turtleneck, his face set in stone. He had shaved off his beard, revealing the sharp, commanding jawline of a true Whitmore heir.
“The estate security detail has been doubled,” Andrew noted, scanning the perimeter cameras on his handheld tablet. “Vanessa brought in private mercenaries from the Vanguard Group. There are at least twelve armed guards patrolling the grounds.”
“Let them patrol,” Daniel said coldly, shifting the vehicle into park near the subterranean service entrance. “They won't expect an ambush from the inside.”
They slipped into the mansion through the basement laundry chutes, moving with silent, calculated precision up the marble stairs toward the executive suite on the third floor.
At 8:00 a.m., the monthly executive board meeting was scheduled to begin in the grand mahogany boardroom. Every major investor, regional director, and board member would be present—along with Vanessa Hart, who had planned to officially announce her assumption of interim CEO duties following Daniel's “tragic disappearance.”
Daniel and Andrew walked down the third-floor hallway, their footsteps completely silent against the thick Persian rugs.
As they reached the heavy oak doors of the boardroom, Daniel pushed them open without knocking.
The murmur of conversation inside died instantly.
Twenty-one board members turned around in their leather chairs. At the head of the table sat Vanessa Hart, dazzling in a pristine white Chanel suit, looking every bit the ruthless corporate queen.
When her eyes landed on Daniel—and then drifted to the man standing right beside him—the color drained entirely from her face. Her perfectly manicured fingers gripped the edge of the mahogany table so hard her knuckles turned white.
“A-Andrew?” a trembling voice muttered from the back of the room. It was Arthur Pendelton, the elderly senior legal counsel.
Vanessa recovered faster than anyone else in the room could blink. Her shock morphed into a chilling, theatrical smile.
“Well,” Vanessa purred, standing up smoothly. “It seems we have unexpected guests. Security! How did these trespassers get into the building?”
“Shut your mouth, Vanessa,” Andrew’s voice cut through the grand boardroom like a physical blow. It echoed off the vaulted ceilings with absolute, undeniable authority.
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He strode forward, tossing a heavy titanium hard drive right onto the center of the mahogany table, scattering the printed quarterly reports.
“Meeting’s canceled,” Andrew declared. “We have some federal crimes to discuss.”
