Gina
For a man who had spent the last hour yelling at his son in two languages, Mario became frighteningly quiet when Michael said someone had been inside Zander’s house.
I understood why.
Zander’s penthouse was supposed to be the safe place. Michael’s security team controlled the elevators, cameras covered the entrances, and Zander had enough technology inside that apartment to know when Lilo sneezed near the front door. Yet someone had apparently gotten close enough to his private safe to take an identification card he swore never left his home, then carried it into Preston Enterprises and placed it beside his computer like some kind of trophy.
I stared at the security image on Michael’s phone. The hooded person sat behind Zander’s desk with their head angled toward the monitor. Ther
