The alarm on Sloan Everheart’s phone went off at 5:14 in the morning, the way it had every weekday for the past three years.

It was 5:42 PM. Eighteen minutes before the board quorum.

Sloan gathered her thick paper dossiers, her encrypted flash drives, and her phone, placing them into a sleek black leather briefcase. The floor was completely deserted. The administrative staff had gone home at five due to the worsening blizzard, leaving only the dim perimeter night-lights illuminated along the vast glass corridors.

She stepped out of her office suite into the quiet hallway. Her heels clicked sharply against the dark gray slate floor.

She walked toward the central elevator bank, expecting to see Calder waiting by the doors. But the hallway was empty. A slight pang of anxiety touched her chest, though she quickly brushed it aside. Calder had likely been delayed securing Lily or checking the lower perimeter.

She pressed the call button for Executive Elevator 3. The digital display above the door illuminated with a soft chime: 42.

The heavy brass and glass doors slid open smoothly.

Sloan stepped inside the spacious, wood-paneled cab and turned to press the button for the 41st floor conference room.

Before the doors could close, a hand reached out from the side wall and gripped the rubber edge of the frame, stopping the mechanism.

Blaine Corbett stepped into the elevator cab.

Behind him came Trent Huxley and Mason Reich.

Sloan’s breath hitched slightly, but she stood her ground, her back straightening, her hand tightening around the handle of her briefcase.

"The meeting is on forty-one, gentlemen," Sloan said coldly. "You can take the next car."

"We're going to forty-one, Sloan," Blaine said smoothly, stepping fully into the cab. "But first, we're going to have the conversation we should have had two years ago."

Mason Reich reached out and hit the red Emergency Stop toggle on the elevator panel, followed by the floor override key. The elevator shuddered slightly as the cables locked into place between the 42nd and 41st floors. The overhead halogen lights flickered, leaving only the dim amber emergency strips glowing along the floorboards.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sloan demanded, her voice sharp, though her heart had begun to hammer against her ribs. "Unlock this elevator immediately."

"No," Trent sneered, stepping up beside Blaine, his broad shoulders blocking the doors entirely. "You're done giving orders, Sloan. You've been acting like you run this company because your dead father left you a piece of paper. But you don't run anything."

Blaine pulled a folded legal document from his inner suit jacket pocket and held it out to her.

"This is an emergency resignation agreement," Blaine said, his voice dropping into a dark, predatory register. "It states that due to personal health concerns, you are stepping down as CEO effective immediately, transferring operational proxy to me until a permanent successor is named by the board."

Sloan looked at the paper, then looked at Blaine's cold, arrogant eyes. "You've lost your mind, Blaine. You think you can force me to sign a legal document under duress in an elevator?"

"There are no cameras running on this floor tonight, Sloan," Mason Reich spoke up from the corner, his voice chillingly calm. "The maintenance logs will show an electrical glitch trapped us here for twenty minutes. And when the doors open, you will have signed this paper. Or you will be carried out of this building on a gurney after a very unfortunate panic attack that led to a physical accident."

"You wouldn't dare," Sloan breathed, taking a half-step back until her spine hit the rear wood paneling of the cab.

"You've pushed us too far!" Trent suddenly roared, stepping forward and reaching out to snatch her briefcase.

Sloan pulled the briefcase back violently, swinging it with all her strength. The heavy leather corner caught Trent square across the cheek, cutting his skin and sending him stumbling back against the wall.

"You bitch!" Trent screamed, his face twisting into pure rage.

Before Sloan could react, Blaine Corbett stepped forward, his eyes blazing with unleashed malice. He lunged out, grabbing Sloan forcefully by the shoulders of her executive blazer.

With a brutal, violent shove, Blaine threw her across the cab.

Sloan’s heels slid against the slick polished floor. She went down hard, her knees cracking violently against the floorboards, her briefcase spilling paper across the elevator. Her back struck the lower metal rail of the car, knocking the wind out of her lungs.

She lay on the floor of the elevator, gasping for air, her hair falling out of its neat pins across her face.

Blaine stood over her, his silver hair slightly disheveled, his face dark with triumphant cruelty. He pointed down at her, looming like a tyrant over a fallen captive.

"You thought you were untouchable, didn't you?" Blaine spat, stepping on the documents spread across her legs. "You thought because you sat in the big chair you were better than us. Look at you. You're nothing. Just a girl playing in her father's suit."

Trent wiped the blood from his cheek, stepping up beside Blaine with a dark, vicious smile. "Sign the paper, Sloan. Or we'll make sure you can't walk out of this building tonight."

Sloan looked up from the floor, gasping for breath, her knees throbbing with agonizing pain. For the first time in three years, isolated in a dark box high above the city with three men who had cast aside every pretense of humanity, she felt a cold, suffocating wave of terror.

Then, from the dark, quiet hallway outside the elevator shaft on the 42nd floor, a sound echoed through the steel frame.