My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 136

Chapter 136: The Gauntlet

[Ethan’s POV]

Sterling & Cross didn’t look like a bank. It looked like a modern art museum that had been converted into a fortress.

The lobby was a massive expanse of white marble and brushed steel. There were no teller windows, only sleek mahogany desks where ultra-wealthy clients met with private wealth managers.

I walked through the revolving glass doors, my hand resting casually inside my coat, gripping the handle of my Glock. Claire walked to my left, looking every bit the ruthless corporate lawyer in her tailored charcoal suit.

Heinrich Kessler walked between us. He was sweating through his bespoke collar, his face pale, but he kept his mouth shut. The ceramic push-dagger was pressed firmly against his ribs, hidden by the drape of my coat.

"Smile, Heinrich," Claire murmured, her voice perfectly pleasant. "You’re just bringing your legal counsel up to the boardroom."

Two of Isabella’s PMCs were stationed near the private elevators. They recognized Kessler instantly and stepped aside, though one of them eyed me suspiciously.

"Mr. Kessler," the guard said in German. "We weren’t informed you were bringing guests."

"My legal team," Kessler choked out, his voice trembling slightly. I pressed the tip of the dagger a fraction of an inch deeper into his side. Kessler swallowed hard and found his arrogant tone. "Do you question my authority, or do you want me to call Isabella and tell her you’re delaying the debt transfer?"

The guard stiffened, stepping back. "Apologies, sir. Go right ahead."

We reached the private elevator. Kessler placed his trembling hand flat against the black glass of the sub-dermal scanner. A green laser swept over his skin, reading the blood flow and the biometric signature.

The glass doors slid open with a soft chime.

We stepped inside, and Claire hit the button for the 40th floor—the executive boardroom.

The ride up was dead silent. When the doors opened, we stepped out into a plush, carpeted hallway lined with abstract paintings. I immediately shoved Kessler into a nearby supply closet, zip-tying him to a heavy metal shelving unit and gagging him with a roll of medical tape from my trauma kit.

"Stay put," I whispered to him.

I stepped back out into the hallway, drawing my Glock. Claire pulled her encrypted phone from her pocket, checking the time.

"11:54 AM," Claire whispered. "Nia’s cyber-attack hits in sixty seconds."

I crept down the hallway, peering around the corner toward the heavy, double oak doors of the executive boardroom.

My blood ran cold.

Varga was already there.

He was standing in the wide antechamber outside the boardroom doors, flanked by four heavily armed PMCs. Varga looked like a walking nightmare. The right side of his face was covered in angry, blistering red burns from the white phosphorus. His right arm was in a fresh, reinforced brace, but he held his suppressed SIG Sauer in his left hand with terrifying, rock-steady precision.

He was staring at the main elevator bank at the far end of the hall. He was waiting for Jake to step off.

"Five tangos," I whispered to Claire, stepping back around the corner. "Varga and four shooters. They’re blocking the boardroom doors. If Jake steps off that main elevator at noon, he’s walking into a firing squad."

"We have to clear the hallway," Claire said, her eyes wide.

"I have to clear the hallway," I corrected, checking my magazine. "You stay here. If I go down, you run."

"Ethan—"

"11:55," I said, cutting her off.

Suddenly, the recessed lighting in the hallway flickered and died, plunging the floor into emergency backup lighting.

Down the hall, the PMCs’ radios erupted into a deafening chorus of static and panicked shouting. Nia had struck. Half a mile away, Isabella Vane’s secure compound was currently experiencing a total, catastrophic digital meltdown.

"Comms are jammed!" one of the PMCs shouted, tapping his earpiece. "Command is reporting a massive firewall breach at the lake compound! They’re requesting immediate reinforcement!"

Varga didn’t even flinch. His dead eyes remained locked on the main elevator doors.

"Hold your positions," Varga ordered, his voice a raspy, damaged growl. "It’s a distraction. The ghost is coming here."

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