The morning following the absolute destruction of Zenith Corporation was supposed to be a victory lap. The financial district was bathed in the crisp, photorealistic clarity of early autumn sunlight, a cinematic glow that reflected off the gold-and-glass facade of the VanceTech tower. The empire was secure. The market was conquered.
Elara Vance was in transit to the European Consulate in the city center. It was a mandatory, high-visibility diplomatic meeting to finalize the sovereign tax exemptions for the Titan Hub in Rotterdam. She was traveling in the apex of corporate security: a three-car convoy of heavily armored, matte-black VanceTech SUVs, escorted by Commander Elias and six of his most elite, kinetic-weave-armored internal security operatives.
I was not in the convoy.
Following
