*Chapter 22: Infiltration*
Ethan knew he couldn't just charge through the front door. Harris Grant lived behind layers of steel, surveillance, and power. Politicians like him didn't fear mobs—they feared shadows. Ethan had become one.
He started small—weeks before the move.
He got a job through a shell identity with the contracted cleaning firm for Grant's private office tower. Just two shifts a week. Enough to learn layout, security codes, guard rotations.
At first, no one noticed him. That was the point.
He moved with a hunched posture, wore smudged glasses, kept his badge clipped slightly off-center—details that made people forget your face the moment they looked away.
The building was fortress-like. Glass and marble above, reinforced concrete beneath. Elevators required access cards. Biometric scanners at Grant's private suite. But Ethan wasn't rushing.
He watched.
He logged when Grant arrived (8:45 a.m.), when he left (6:20 p.m.), who brought his coffee, which assistant had a nervous habit of leaving her card unattended near the break room.
He mapped blind spots in the cameras. Two corners. One at the freight elevator shaft. One by the fire escape stairwell. Fifteen seconds of darkness every night when the backup generator did its system check.
He memorized them.
By week three, he made his first breach.
He timed his cleaning shift with a late maintenance window. Posing as a janitor, he slipped a micro-camera behind the painting in Grant's office—facing the desk. A silent watcher. No signal. Just internal storage. He'd retrieve it later.
What he saw confirmed everything.
Grant sat at his desk, smiling into a phone call about "turning obstacles into leverage." Documents were shredded—government contracts, local business acquisitions, zoning amendments. Ethan paused the playback. Zoomed in.
His father's name.
A document marked *"Confidential: Internal Liability Protocol."*
Signed. Stamped. Dated a week before the "accident."
That was the final break.
Ethan stopped sleeping. Stopped eating normally. He trained. He scouted.
And then he made the call.
He triggered the security fault from inside the fire panel—a brief, localized blackout, timed to the minute. Just enough to get him to Grant's floor unseen.
He was no longer hunting.
He was already inside.
Next: justice in the lion's den.
_Bleank Ø_