The digital sanctuary of the BGC penthouse had been breached, but not by a hacker—by the court of public opinion. As the sun set, the screens in the Command Center flooded with livestreamed footage from the lobby of Luxe-Tech Headquarters. Thousands of protesters had gathered, their signs reading "BELLA THE THIEF" waving frantically in the humid air.
The heavy glass doors shivered under the rhythmic pounding of a battering ram. Suddenly, they shattered. A wave of protesters, led by Rico's tactical agitators, surged into the marble lobby. But they didn't find cowering security guards. They found Marco.
The stoic bodyguard stood alone in the center of the lobby, feet planted, wearing a gas mask. Behind him, the elevators were already sealed behind steel shutters.
"Turn back," Marco's voice boomed through his suit's external speakers. "This is private property."
A hooded agitator lunged forward, swinging a lead pipe. Marco didn't draw his gun. He tapped a command on his wrist-link. From the ceiling vents, a thick, white mist erupted—not tear gas, but a high-concentrate slip-agent developed in Bella's own labs. Within seconds, the polished marble became slicker than ice. The front line of the mob went down in a chaotic heap, sliding helplessly across the floor like hockey pucks.
The Insider Threat
High above in the Command Center, Bella watched the chaos with a grim expression. "Rina, I need a list of everyone who was in the server room during the timestamp of the last embezzlement signature."
"I'm looking, Bella, but the logs are being wiped in real-time from an authorized account," Rina muttered, her eyes darting across the cascading code. "It's not an outside ghost. It's someone using the Chief Financial Officer's master key."
Bella froze. CFO Arthur Sterling. He'd been with the company since its founding. "Arthur? That's impossible. He's in Singapore for a conference."
"His login says he's in the building, Bella," Elijah interjected, pointing at a blinking dot on the internal GPS map. "Level 42. The high-security archives."
"He's not in Singapore," Bella realized, her voice turning cold. "He's the one Rico was talking about. He's the 'friend' who picked the locks from the inside."
The Mezzanine Defense
On the mezzanine, Rico's mercenaries had donned spiked boots and were scaling the side pillars to reach the second level where Philip was waiting.
"Alright, boys! You want the Queen? You gotta go through the Knight first!" Philip roared.
He didn't use a shield this time. He grabbed two massive, decorative brass stanchions—the heavy velvet rope poles—and swung them like dual maces. As the first mercenary reached the top of the stairs, Philip delivered a spinning blow that sent the man flying back into the crowd below.
"Non-lethal, Master said!" Philip grunted, parrying a knife strike with the heavy brass pole. "But he didn't say it wouldn't hurt!"
Philip was a whirlwind of raw power, his "Labobo" persona gone, replaced by the elite operative he truly was. He used the narrow mezzanine as a bottleneck, knocking mercenaries back down to the "ice-floor" lobby where Marco was methodically zip-tying the leaders.
The Hunt for Level 42
"Chano, we have a name," Bella said into her comms. "Arthur Sterling. He's on Level 42. He's wiping the evidence as we speak."
"Copy that," Chano's voice came through, punctuated by the sound of a heavy door being kicked open. "Philip, stay with Marco and hold the lobby. I'm taking the maintenance lift to 42. Rico's van is empty—he's already inside the building. He's meeting Arthur for the hand-off."
"Master, wait!" Elijah shouted. "I'm seeing another signature. There's a second spy—someone in HR. They're the ones who authorized the mercenaries' 'temporary' security badges."
The betrayal went deeper than just one man. Don Rico hadn't just bought a spy; he had rotted the company from the inside out.
"Rina, lock down HR," Chano commanded. "Bella, stay in the Command Center. We're going to catch a CFO."