Chapter 9 - The Ghost of the GalaAt nine o'clock the following morning, the grand lobby of the Mercer Neurological Complex was a sea of black tuxedos, military uniforms, and high-society evening gowns.
Security was absolute. Dozens of private contractors wearing earpieces and tactical suits stood beside biometric scanners at every elevator bank. Guests were required to present custom digital invitations, undergo retinal verification, and pass through bio-chemical sniffing arches designed to detect unauthorized substances.
In the main elevator bank, Julian Mercer stood surrounded by four foreign defense attachés, a glass of champagne in his hand, his navy blue silk tie perfectly knotted. He looked radiant, triumphant, and completely in control.
"An extraordinary facility, Mr. Mercer," a French general remarked, looking up at the soaring glass atrium. "And you are certain the demonstration will proceed without... unexpected disruptions?"
"My sister’s unfortunate episode at the gala two nights ago has been fully managed, General," Julian replied with a smooth, practiced smile. "She is currently resting under full medical supervision at our upstate retreat. You have nothing to fear."
What Julian did not notice was the catering server pushing a high-tiered pastry cart past the security checkpoint twenty feet away.
Underneath the long, floor-length white linen table skirt of the cart sat Leo, holding a small handheld frequency jammer. Beside the cart walked Clara, dressed in the dark navy uniform of the hotel's senior hospitality staff, her hair tucked neatly beneath a black cap, her posture relaxed and unremarkable.
Her eyes were fixed on the private executive elevator at the end of the hall.
As Julian led his party into the VIP express car, Leo pressed a button on his jammer.
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For three seconds, the biometric scanner at the service elevator turned from red to green. Clara slipped through the heavy doors unnoticed, pulling the cart and Leo inside just as the silver panels slid shut.
"Floors 58 through 60," Clara whispered, punching the override code Sarah had extracted from the ironworks servers. "We have twenty minutes before the main presentation begins."
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