Chapter 6 - The Hidden Camera
The rain over Manhattan was relentless, washing the neon-lit streets in slick, reflective black.
At 2:30 AM, an unmarked black SUV pulled into the subterranean delivery bay beneath Callaway Tower. The skyscraper was officially closed, its sprawling commercial lobby dark and silent. Yellow police tape fluttered violently against the glass doors on the eighty-second floor, keeping the crime scene sealed under court order.
Nathaniel cut the engine. He glanced over at Rose, who was sitting in the passenger seat wearing a dark rain jacket and baseball cap.
"You don't have to come up there," Nathaniel said, his hand resting on the steering wheel. "If the police catch us, I can buy my way out of a trespassing charge. You won't have that luxury."
"I know the exact model of that cart, Nathaniel," Rose said, meeting his gaze without flinching. "The drive is hidden behind a magnetic false panel under the champagne chiller. If you rip the wrong wire, it triggers an automatic security wipe. You need me."
Nathaniel stared at her for a long moment, admiration shining in his eyes. "You are remarkable, Rose Miller."
"I'm practical, Mr. Callaway. Let's go get your proof."
Using a master biometric override key that Nathaniel retained as the building's owner, they bypassed the primary elevator bank and took the private service lift straight to the eighty-second floor. The ride was silent, the altitude pressure popping Rose's ears as the floor indicator climbed higher into the clouds.
*Ding.*
The doors slid open into the cold, drafty darkness of the rooftop penthouse.
The terrace was a ghost town. The overturned banquet chairs, broken crystal, and dried stains of champagne and blood remained exactly as they had been left two days prior. Wind howled through the open-air pavilion, whipping rain across the marble floor.
"Over there," Rose whispered, pointing toward the covered catering alcove near the decorative floral arch.
Several stainless steel service carts were parked beneath a canvas awning. Rose hurried forward, ignoring the dull throb in her ribs, and dropped to her knees beside the center cart.
Her fingers worked quickly, feeling along the underside of the polished steel frame. "Here. It’s the magnetic latch."
She pulled. A small metal panel popped open, revealing a blinking green LED light and a rugged, palm-sized black hard drive locked into a docking cradle.
"It’s still active," Rose breathed, a surge of triumph hitting her chest. "The battery hasn't died."
"Careful," Nathaniel said, kneeling beside her, shining a small penlight onto the wiring.
Rose carefully disconnected the safety pins, releasing the drive with a soft, mechanical click. She held the heavy little drive up like a trophy. "We got it. Every second of the cocktail hour is on this drive."
"Don't celebrate just yet," a smooth, chilling voice echoed through the darkness behind them.
Nathaniel moved instantly, stepping between Rose and the sound, his hand reaching for the concealed firearm inside his coat.
Step by step, two figures emerged from the shadows of the catering service corridor.
The first was Arthur Sterling, dressed in a tailored cashmere overcoat, holding a silver-tipped walking cane.
The second was Julian Vance. And Julian was holding a suppressed semi-automatic pistol, pointed directly at Nathaniel's chest.
"I told you, Arthur," Julian said casually, his voice echoing over the roar of the wind. "Nathaniel is predictable. He always looks for the physical evidence himself."
Nathaniel didn't flinch. His eyes locked onto Julian with cold, murderous disdain. "You betrayed my family, Julian. For what? A percentage of Sterling Steel?"
"Sterling Steel is worthless, Nathaniel," Julian sneered, stepping closer into the pale moonlight. "Arthur and I formed a private offshore shell company. Once Victoria was legally married to you, she had power of attorney in the event of your mother’s death. With Eleanor out of the way, we were going to liquidate Callaway Global's foreign assets and split three billion dollars."
"And what was Victoria’s role?" Nathaniel asked coldly, subtly shifting his weight to shield Rose further. "Just the trigger?"
"Victoria was the architect," Arthur Sterling spat, his face twisted in venomous hatred. "Eleanor was a stubborn, meddling old hag who wouldn't let my daughter live the life she deserved! She figured out our audit within ten minutes of arriving at the venue. Victoria had to act."
Arthur turned his glare toward Rose, his lip curling in disgust. "And then this filthy little peasant had to stick her hands where they didn't belong. Hand over the drive, girl, or Julian will put a bullet through Nathaniel's throat right in front of you."
Rose’s knuckles turned white around the hard drive.
Nathaniel didn't back down. "You shoot me here, Julian, and Callaway security will tear you apart before you reach the lobby."
"They won't hear the shot over the storm," Julian smiled coldly, his finger tightening on the trigger. "And when the police find your bodies tomorrow, the story will be so simple: Nathaniel Callaway caught the scheming maid trying to steal evidence, a fight broke out, and they both fell over the edge. Just like Eleanor was supposed to."
Julian raised the gun, aligning the sights with Nathaniel’s forehead.
In that split second, Rose knew that words were useless.
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With all the strength left in her battered body, Rose didn't scream or cower. Instead, she grabbed the heavy stainless steel ice bucket sitting on the cart's lower shelf—still filled with melted slush and heavy glass bottles—and hurled it straight at Julian's knees.
***
