Chapter 4 - The Deputy Mayor’s Shadow
The discovery of Arthur Vance’s name on the Meridian Holdings roster changed the entire board game. My father wasn't just a rogue businessman running a sinking ship; he was part of an entrenched municipal corruption ring that used real estate developments to launder city funds.
“Vance is untouchable in local politics,” Marcus muttered, adjusting his reading glasses as he examined the corporate registry printout. “If we hand these documents directly to the local police, they’ll vanish into an evidence locker before the ink dries.”
“Then we don’t go to the local police,” I said, tapping my fingernail against the name Arthur Vance. “We take it to the federal investigative branch in downtown Chicago. They don’t answer to the city council.”
My phone buzzed again, breaking the heavy silence of the warehouse. This time, it was a text message from an unknown number containing a single photo and a short threat.
The photo showed the boutique hotel room where I had left my suitcases just hours before, the door kicked completely off its hinges and my clothes tossed across the floor.
Drop the files, Evie, or the next room we toss won't be empty, the text read.
I slid the phone across the desk so Marcus could read the screen. His expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening into a hard line.
“They tracked your credit card charges from the hotel,” Marcus said, standing up and grabbing his heavy wool coat from the rack. “We need to move this archive right now. They know you’re working with me.”
“How could they know about you?” I asked, grabbing my jacket.
“Your brother Grant interned at the city planning office last summer,” Marcus said grimly as we rushed toward the back exit. “Vance’s office shares a floor with them. Grant might not know the full extent of the fraud, but he knows who Hale Enterprises’ fixers are.”
We loaded the metal boxes containing the financial ledgers into the trunk of Marcus’s nondescript sedan just as a pair of dark SUVs turned sharply into the alleyway behind the warehouse.
“Get in!” Marcus yelled, slamming the trunk shut and diving into the driver’s seat.
He punched the accelerator, tires screeching against the asphalt as we rocketed out of the alley just seconds before the SUVs blocked the entrance.
Looking back through the rear window, I saw two men in dark suits step out of the lead vehicle, staring angrily after our fleeing car. One of them pulled out a phone, no doubt calling back to report that their quarry had slipped through their fingers.
“Where are we going?” I asked, my adrenaline surging as the car wove through the heavy evening traffic.
“To a secure safehouse maintained by your grandfather’s old security detail,” Marcus replied, his eyes locked on the rearview mirror to check for tails. “Robert Hale knew this day might come. He spent the last ten years of his life preparing for the moment Richard’s greed finally tipped over the edge.”
We drove for forty minutes outside the city limits, winding through wooded suburban roads before pulling into a secluded property surrounded by a high brick wall and dense pine trees.
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The house looked ordinary from the outside, but as Marcus punched a security code into the side gate, heavy steel shutters slid open over the windows, revealing a high-tech command center inside.
“Welcome to the vault,” Marcus said, turning on the banks of computer monitors that illuminated the room in a cool blue glow.
