Elias gave me that knife-pretty smile again. “Your staff? Mr. Martin, everyone belongs to someone when the number is high enough.”

The older officer said, “Sir, I think we should step outside.”

“No,” Victor snapped. “You should call your supervisor and Internal Affairs.”

The younger officer had already stepped away, speaking urgently into his radio. Elias’s gaze slid toward the elevators. He was calculating. I knew that look — I’d seen it across negotiation tables.

Men like Elias don’t panic when cornered. They look for the weakest wall.

Then the fire alarm screamed.