The penthouse door seals at 2:14 PM.
Not the usual soft click of the automatic bolt. This sound is deeper and heavier, the thud of a deadbolt ramming home, followed by the low mechanical whir of reinforced steel plates descending over the windows. I watch the Detroit skyline vanish slice by slice as the shutters swallow it whole.
Julian stands at the control panel with his back to me, his shoulders locked into a solid wall.
"The board has security contractors," he says. "Private muscle. They'll try to serve papers. They'll try to reach you."
"So you're converting the penthouse into a vault."
"I'm converting it into a fortress. There's a difference."
I snatch his arm and force him around. "Julian. Look at me."
He turns. His face is the mask I remember from the boardroom weeks ago, co
