They did not look like security guards.

One of them reached into his jacket pocket.

Andrew stepped in front of me, his broad shoulders blocking my view of the two men.

I could smell the faint scent of smoke still clinging to my hair.

The man on the left drew his hand from his pocket, revealing the dull black metal of a handgun.

“Do not make a sound,” the man said.

His voice was flat and devoid of emotion.

Andrew did not move an inch.

“Who paid you?” Andrew asked, his voice steady. “Julian or Victoria?”

The second man stepped forward, reaching for the leather satchel containing the hard drive.

Before his fingers could touch the strap, the heavy glass window behind us shattered inward.

A flashbang grenade bounced on the hardwood floor, emitting a blinding white light and a deafening crack.

I covered my ears and crouched behind Andrew’s desk.

Through the smoke, three men in tactical gear dropped from the balcony ceiling.

They wore the insignia of Leprince Corp’s private security detail.

Within seconds, the two intruders were pinned to the floor, their faces pressed against the polished wood.