32. Colleen Frost

Ihad to be at a stockholder meeting at two o'clock, but now we'd somehow gotten involved with a Russian bratva again.

It was almost enough to make me want to go back to sleeping on a twin mattress on the floor of a studio apartment in Arizona.

When I'd come out of my office and these Russian guys had hustled me into a waiting limousine, I set off my panic app Twist had rigged on my smartwatch that linked to my phone. I wasn't sure if the police or my private security would get here in time to save us, but at least they were tracking us. There was a fighting chance that someone was going to show up at some point.

Being the CEO of a Fortune 100 company has its perks, especially one that you founded and took to the stratosphere in under six months.

The Russian mercenaries—for I'd figured out that's who they were, Koch Group hired muscle—tied my hands loosely behind my back, not realizing Twist's particular tastes had left me with uncanny skills to escape any binding I wanted to.

Even when they were dragging us toward the elevators behind Bell's desk, which ultimately weren't functional, I had one hand out of the zip ties and was ready to take advantage of any situation that presented itself.

After the Russian Lug Nut couldn't get the elevator call button to work, which I assume was my husband's work, Mary Varvara Bell herded us down the long trail from her desk to the office entry at the other end.

It was only a matter of time, and with one hand free, I had to find an opening to save us.