Chapter 26: The Rubicon
The digital clock on the edge of Ryan's monitor flipped to 11:58 PM.
The forty-second floor was entirely silent.
The heavy smart-glass door to his office remained frosted, sealing him inside a glowing white box suspended high above the streets of Midtown. The ambient temperature of the room felt ten degrees colder than it had an hour ago, though the thermostat hadn't moved.
Ryan sat in the high-backed leather chair, his hands resting flat on the dark walnut desk. The burner phone sat directly between his palms — a featureless rectangle of black plastic and lithium.
Two minutes.
His jaw was clamped so tight a dull ache radiated up into his temples. He stared at the phone. He didn't blink.
He was twenty-four years old. Three months ago, he was doing aggressive mental math in the aisle of a grocery store to figure out if he could afford name-brand coffee.
