My Boss Fired Me in Front of Everyone - Nine Minutes Later, Someone Used My Name to Reroute $28 Million in Cargo

The cold steel of the scalpel pressed against the skin of my forearm.

I thrashed against the leather straps, but they were reinforced with steel wire. Dr. Thorne’s eyes were completely detached, entirely devoid of empathy, as he applied pressure to the blade.

A thin line of blood welled up on my skin.

“Hold her still,” Thorne ordered the two armed guards standing by the glass doors.

Suddenly, the heavy blast doors of the surgical suite hissed open.

A figure in a white lab coat walked in, pushing a metal medical cart covered with sterilized tools. The guards didn't even turn their heads.

But as the figure stepped under the bright surgical lights, I recognized the ink covering the back of her hands.

It was Chloe.

She wasn't in a holding pen. She wasn't tied up. She was moving with that same lethal, terrifying grace she had in the Detroit warehouse.

“Dr. Thorne,” Chloe said, her voice perfectly calm. “The Dubai buyer is on line one. He wants to confirm the tissue match before authorizing the transfer.”

Thorne frowned, pausing with the scalpel hovering over my arm. “Tell him he will have his confirmation in five minutes once I extract the cypher.”

“He said he needs it now,” Chloe insisted, stepping closer to the operating table.

As she reached the cart, she didn't pick up a phone. She picked up a heavy bone-saw and a canister of compressed surgical oxygen.

In one fluid motion, Chloe smashed the oxygen valve with the heavy saw, turning the canister into a high-pressure missile. It shot across the room, slamming into the lead guard’s chest and sending him crashing through the glass partition.

Before the second guard could raise his rifle, Chloe drew a concealed ceramic blade from her sleeve and drove it straight into the side of his neck.

Thorne screamed, dropping the scalpel and lunging for the emergency alarm button on the wall.

Chloe grabbed his tailored collar, yanked him backward, and slammed his head brutally against the stainless-steel tray. Thorne collapsed in a heap of broken glass and iodine.

Chloe grabbed the scalpel and sliced through my leather restraints in seconds.

“Get up,” she ordered, her chest heaving.

I rubbed my bleeding wrists, staring at her in absolute shock. “Julian said you were captured.”

“I let them capture me, you idiot,” Chloe snapped, tossing me a stolen 9mm pistol from the dead guard. “I knew the FBI couldn't protect me from Thorne. The only way to survive was to get inside and kill him myself. Now plug your damn arm into the console and shut down the security grid so we can get out of here.”

“Wait,” I said, looking around the blood-spattered room. “Where is Julian?”

Chloe’s cold eyes darkened.

“Julian isn't in a holding cell, Emily,” Chloe said. “He’s upstairs in the boardroom. Drinking champagne.”

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