They Thought I Was A Janitor, Until I Refinanced The Skyscraper And Evicted Them

Elena pulled her phone out with her good hand. One text to Sophia: NOW.

She counted to three. The fire alarm shrieked—a piercing, ear-splitting wail. A second later, the ceiling sprinklers exploded.

It wasn't clean water. The building’s fire suppression system hadn't been flushed in decades, a maintenance cost Marcus had cut. Black, oily sludge rained down on the silk dresses and bespoke suits.

Panic erupted. Guests screamed, slipping on the marble floors. It was a water damage insurance nightmare unfolding in real-time.

"My suit!" Marcus roared, dodging a stream of sludge. "Turn it off! Someone kill the alarm!"

While the guards scrambled to usher the soaked VIPs toward the exits, Elena kicked the service grate open. She dropped behind the wet bar, invisible in the chaos.

She crawled over broken glass, sticking close to the wall. Smoke alarms flashed, strobing the room in disorientation. The liability claims from this night alone would bankrupt a lesser man.

Marcus was distracted, screaming at a waiter. The safe was ten feet away. Open.

Elena lunged from cover, sprinting to the wall. She reached inside the safe, her fingers closing around the cool metal of the control tablet.

She pulled it out. The screen was locked.

BIOMETRIC SCAN REQUIRED.

Her hand was shaking violently. She could hear heavy footsteps behind her. She jammed her thumb onto the glass scanner.