Twenty-four hours before Damian's deadline, I found myself standing in the elevator of the Chrysler Building, ascending toward what might be my death. Eleanor's plan was elegant in its simplicity: give Damian what he wanted—a private meeting to discuss terms—while recording everything he said with equipment sophisticated enough to penetrate Phoenix Legacy's security measures.
The elevator operator was one of Marcus's people, the building's security had been quietly infiltrated by our team, and I was wearing enough recording equipment to document a short war. But none of that changed the fact that I was voluntarily entering a confined space with a man who had murdered my father and repeatedly threatened my son.
"Seventy-seventh floor," the operator announced.
The doors opened to reveal a
