Day Seven: December 5th
The call came at 3 a.m.
Luca. Voice tense. "Mrs. Archer. Mr. Archer. We have a situation."
Isla was awake instantly. Seven years of single parenthood and crisis management had trained her to wake alert. Beside her, Killian stirred—prison reflexes kicking in.
"What kind of situation?" Isla asked, putting the phone on speaker.
"The warehouse on Pier 23. Someone torched it. Three million in product gone. Two of our guys injured. This was deliberate. Coordinated. Professional."
Killian was already getting dressed. "Who?"
"We don't know yet. But boss—Mrs. Archer—this feels personal. They knew exactly which warehouse. Exactly when our security would be lightest. Someone gave them intelligence."
"We'll be there in twenty minutes," Isla said. "Secure the perimeter. Get our people medical attention. And Luca? Start checking for leaks. Someone inside gave up that information."
After hanging up, Isla looked at Killian. "First crisis as co-leaders. Ready?"
