Chapter 3 - The Twelfth FloorThe Grand Regency Hotel was quiet at four in the morning.
In the lavish, marble-tiled lobby, a lone night receptionist sat behind the front desk, sipping coffee while low jazz played softly from overhead speakers. She barely had time to look up before a tall, broad-shouldered man in a damp field jacket walked past her toward the executive elevators, moving with an air of absolute, unyielding authority.
"Sir?" the receptionist called out, standing up. "Sir, those elevators require a keycard for the executive floors—"
Daniel didn't stop. He pulled a master override keycard—a piece of high-level security hardware provided to him years ago by an old military teammate who now ran chief security operations for the hotel chain—from his pocket and swiped it across the sensor.
The elevator doors slid open instantly. Daniel stepped inside, pressed 12, and watched the steel doors glide shut.
As the elevator rose silently toward the top floor, Daniel stood motionless in the center of the cabin. His eyes were fixed on his reflection in the mirrored wall.
He didn't feel anger anymore. Anger was chaotic. Anger made men sloppy, made them miss targets, made them make mistakes. What Daniel felt was a cold, surgical clarity. For twenty-five years, he had been trained by the United States military to locate, isolate, and neutralize threats. Tonight, the threat wasn't an insurgent cell in a desert compound. It was a family of wealthy, arrogant sociopaths who believed their money made them untouchable.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened onto the carpeted hallway of the twelfth floor.
The corridor was silent, illuminated by warm sconce lighting. At the far end of the hall stood Suite 1204—the Executive Presidential Suite.
Sitting on a plush velvet armchair right beside the mahogany doors of Suite 1204 was Jason Parker.
He was still wearing his wedding tuxedo, though his jacket was unbuttoned and his bowtie hung loose around his collar. He had a glass of scotch in one hand and was scrolling casually through his smartphone, a lazy, satisfied smirk on his face.
He didn't hear Daniel’s soft, rubber-soled combat boots moving across the thick carpet until the shadow fell over him.
Jason looked up, annoyance flitting across his face. "Can I help you, buddy? This entire floor is private—"
Before Jason could finish the sentence, Daniel’s left hand shot out like an iron vise, clamping down around Jason’s throat.
Jason’s eyes widened in sheer terror as he was lifted completely out of the armchair, his scotch glass shattering against the floor. Daniel slammed him hard against the drywall, pinning him by his windpipe.
"W-who..." Jason choked out, his face turning dark red as he clawed desperately at Daniel’s scarred fingers. "Who the hell..."
Daniel leaned in close, his face inches from Jason’s.
"I'm Colonel Daniel Carter," Daniel whispered, his voice smooth, low, and terrifyingly calm. "I'm Emily's father."
Jason’s eyes went wild with absolute panic. He tried to scream, but Daniel tightened his grip, shutting off his airway completely until Jason’s legs began to kick frantically against the carpet.
"You guarded the door while your mother beat my daughter," Daniel said into his ear. "You told them not to hit her face too much because of the pictures."
Daniel dragged Jason across the hallway, forcing him down onto his knees in front of the suite door. With his free hand, Daniel reached into Jason’s tuxedo pocket, pulled out the electronic room key, and swiped it across the lock.
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The door clicked.
Daniel shoved the door open, grabbed Jason by the back of his hair, and hauled him into the suite.
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