"He wasn't lying," Tye said as he flipped through a stack of glossy photographs spread across the mahogany desk. "This is an autopsy of our entire security grid."
We were in Axel's study; the heavy door was locked and soundproofed against the rest of the penthouse.
The birthday cake downstairs was still half-eaten, the wrapping paper from the boys still on the floor, but the festive mood had been suffocated the moment Daniel dropped that manila envelope and left.
Now, the room felt like a war room.
"Show me," Axel commanded, leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest.
Tye slid a photograph across the desk.
I reached out and picked it up. My breath hitched in my throat.
It was a photo of me. I was asleep in our bedroom. The angle was high, taken from outside, likely from a drone hovering silently near the terrace. The date stamp was from three days ago.
