Chapter 4 - The Sound of Danger
TWO DAYS LATER
The penthouse suite was bathed in the warm, orange light of a late afternoon sun.
Meera sat at the massive oak dining table, working through a stack of paperwork Roman had provided. She had been officially removed from the hotel's laundry roster and placed on the private administrative payroll as the executive estate coordinator—a position that paid four times her old wage and came with full health insurance for Evan.
In the living room, Evan was sitting cross-legged on the plush floor, surrounded by a massive set of metallic building blocks Roman had ordered for him.
The boy wasn't building houses or castles. He was meticulously assembling a complex system of pulleys, gears, and tiny plastic ropes, testing the tension of each thread with his small fingers.
The heavy double doors of the penthouse opened, and Roman walked in, looking tired. He tossed his coat to Arthur, unbuttoning his collar as he walked over to the dining table.
"How are the new accommodations, Mrs. Collins?" Roman asked, sitting across from her.
Meera looked up from her papers, a deep, genuine warmth softening her tired eyes. "It’s... it’s overwhelming, Mr. Black. Evan hasn't had a single nightmare since we moved up here. He usually wakes up screaming because of the train noise near our old apartment."
"He won't hear any trains up here," Roman said softly. He looked over at Evan, who was currently attaching a tiny plastic counterweight to his block tower. "He’s a smart kid, Meera. You did a hell of a job raising him alone."
Meera paused, her fingers tightening around her pen. "His father left when I was three months pregnant. He told me a child with 'special sensory issues' was going to be too much work."
A dark, icy anger flickered through Roman’s eyes. "Then his father was a blind fool."
Before Meera could respond, Evan suddenly froze.
The boy dropped his building blocks onto the rug. He stood up slowly, his body turning toward the tall glass wall overlooking the west terrace of the penthouse.
"Evan?" Meera asked, standing up instantly, her maternal instincts on high alert. "What is it, sweetie?"
Evan didn't answer. He walked slowly toward the glass door leading out to the private balcony. He pressed his ear flat against the thick, double-paned ballistic glass.
"Evan, come away from the window," Roman said, his voice instantly dropping into a sharp, tactical command as he stood up from the table.
"The air conditioner is buzzing," Evan whispered, his small face turning pale.
Roman brow furrowed. "The HVAC system? It was serviced yesterday—"
"No," Evan interrupted, turning around to face Roman with wide, terrified eyes. "The big air conditioner on the roof doesn't hum like a bee. It hums like a deep motor. This hum is tiny... like a drone."
WHIRRRRRRR...
Before Roman could react, a sharp, high-pitched mechanical whine pierced the air outside the balcony glass.
A heavy black surveillance drone, equipped with a long, tactical lens and a high-frequency directional microphone, hovered twenty feet outside the glass wall, its camera lens zooming directly in on Evan’s face.
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"GET DOWN!" Roman roared.
He lunged across the room, grabbing Meera and throwing her behind the heavy marble kitchen island just as a dark figure in a tactical suit dropped down from a rope harness on the roof, swinging onto the balcony with a heavy steel breacher tool in his hand!
