Then, less than a week later, he’d been murdered.
We pulled into the parking lot of the office park. It was mostly empty. I tried to take steadying breaths as we headed into the lobby. After we went through the revolving door, our steps echoed in the marble entryway. The enormous, opulent building was eerily quiet. A lone security guard was waiting at the counter. I hustled to him and gave him my name.
“Right this way,” he said. “They’re expecting you.”
They. I held my breath as he brought us up on the elevator. We followed him out onto the fifth floor and to an office at the end of the hall.
“Someone will be right with you,” the guard said, leaving us inside.
It was a bland executive office suite that appeared unused and immaculate.
A man came through the door, and I stared at him, taken aback. He was Caucasian, extremely good-looking, and dressed in a black suit. He had even, bleached white teeth and too much gel in his hair.
My confusion must have shown on my face.
He looked at me with raised eyebrows. “What? Surprised I’m a white guy?”
I nodded numbly while Timmy glared at him.
“It’s time to think more globally, Ms. Taylor,” the man said in a nasty, arrogant tone. He opened up the laptop on the desk and pulled up a document. “You have instructions.”
I looked at him sharply. “From who?”
“From your new boss,” he said. “I’d be agreeable if I were you. She was on a tear earlier.” He looked at Timmy. “I need your weapons. All of them. And every piece of electronic equipment you’re both carrying.”
Timmy grunted, but he handed the man two guns and the knife he was carrying, along with his cell phone. Then he looked at me miserably as I turned my phone in.
The guard patted us both down. Finally satisfied, he took everything, stuffing our phones—our last connection with the outside world—casually into his pockets. “This office is your domain. Do not leave it for any reason. There’s a bathroom on the other side of the bookcase. I will bring you food and anything else you require. That couch is pretty comfortable,” the guard said, motioning to a large sofa near the window. “Not that you’ll be sleeping much.”
I gritted my teeth, turning back to the screen. I refused to let Li Na or her henchmen get the best of me. I was there for a reason: to do a job and get out. Alive.
That was Gabe’s last condition—I had to promise to come back to him.
We were weaponless, but I had other things I could use against her.
I pulled up the instructions and prepared to get to work.
Three days passed as I performed the tasks Li Na had set out for me. I had no Internet connection. I knew nothing about what was happening at Paragon, and I hadn’t received any direct contact from Li Na.
Timmy occasionally slept on the couch in the office, but mostly he paced and stared out the windows, watching for signs of trouble. The guard with the bleached teeth came back at three-hour intervals with food, water, and coffee, saying very little.
I kept working, taking only intermittent catnaps, eating just enough to stay focused.
Li Na’s instructions were precise. She’d given me her most up-to-date version of the patch and asked me to lay out the steps she was missing. I worked diligently, from memory, as I attempted to recreate my technology step-by-step. She wanted a blueprint she could use as a template, and she wanted it clean. An original, so I would have difficulty prosecuting her for corporate espionage and theft of my trade secrets.
Of course, if I lived, my testimony would be proof enough for that.
Apparently she was banking on that if. She was fighting dirty, but she was looking for a clean slate.
Lucky for me, Jiàn Innovations was even further behind than I’d initially thought. Their lack of progress was the only thing buying me time. I didn’t dare cross Li Na by providing misinformation or factoring in mistakes. One false move could land a knife in me, just like Clive.
On the morning of the third day, the guard with the bleached teeth came in with breakfast and coffee. “She wants to speak with you,” he said. “She wants to know what’s taking so long.”
I glared at him as he took over the laptop, connected me to the network and pulled up Skype. “What’s taking so long is that she wants me to recreate my very complicated technology from scratch. It took me six years to develop. I’ve been here for three days.”
He gave me a quick once-over. “You should probably watch your tone,” he warned. “She doesn’t have a lot of patience.”
The computer beeped, and I studied the screen, bristling with nerves, as the image came to life. It was Li Na Zhao herself, resplendent in a dark suit. Her long, dark hair hung in panes around her carefully made-up face, and she wore her signature bright lipstick. She was what you would call a handsome woman, too mean to be called something pleasant, such as pretty or beautiful.