Chapter 9 - The Fire on LaSalle and the Broken Swan
The darkness swallowed the St. Jude Children’s Library in an instant as the power grid died across the entire block.
Red laser dots sliced through the pitch-black rotunda like burning crimson threads, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
Ethan reacted before the first round was fired.
He grabbed my arm with his uninjured right hand, dragging me behind the massive limestone foundation pillar just as a deafening burst of automatic fire shattered the glass display cases behind us.
Shards of safety glass rained down like jagged hail, shredding the children's storybooks and pulverizing the plaster walls into gray powder.
Ethan drew his compact firearm, leaning around the edge of the stone pillar and firing three controlled, lethal shots into the gloom.
A sharp cry of pain echoed from the central aisle, followed by the heavy thud of an armored body collapsing onto the hardwood floor.
"There are at least six of them," Ethan whispered, his breath hot against my ear as he reloaded his weapon in the dark with seamless, terrifying precision.
"They aren't here to capture anyone."
"They have thermite charges; they intend to burn this entire library to the ground to incinerate those documents."
"They don't know the layout of this building," I said, my voice shaking with adrenaline as I gripped Ethan's coat.
"My father designed an emergency service corridor behind the historical archives on the mezzanine."
"It leads directly to the subterranean steam tunnels connecting LaSalle Street to the old city subway line."
"Can you get us up to the mezzanine?"
Ethan asked, his slate eyes catching the faint moonlight filtering through the shattered skylight above.
"Follow me," I whispered.
Staying low to the floor, I led Ethan through the maze of wooden bookshelves, using the layout I had studied as a child to navigate the darkness without a light.
Behind us, the distinct smell of burning chemical accelerant filled the air as the strike team ignited the front entrance.
Flames leaped up the velvet curtains, casting flickering orange shadows across the high vaulted ceiling.
We reached the iron spiral staircase leading to the mezzanine just as two men in black tactical gear rounded the corner of the biography section.
Their weapons raised, but I didn't wait for Ethan to fire.
Reaching out, I kicked the heavy brass book cart stationed at the top of the ramp with all the strength in my legs.
The loaded steel cart, weighing over three hundred pounds, careened down the wooden incline and slammed violently into the lead operative’s chest, knocking him backward into his partner and sending their weapons clattering across the floor.
Ethan leaned over the iron railing and fired two rapid double-taps, neutralizing both threats instantly.
We scrambled up the stairs to the mezzanine, where the heat from the growing fire below was already blistering the paint on the walls.
I reached the back wall, pulling down the decorative oak paneling to expose the narrow steel door leading to the steam vents.
Just as Ethan pushed the door open, a wounded operative on the lower floor pulled the pin on an incendiary grenade and hurled it toward the ceiling.
"Move!"
Ethan roared, throwing himself through the steel doorway and pulling me behind him just as the grenade detonated with a blinding flash of white-hot phosphorus.
The blast tore through the mezzanine floorboards, the shockwave slamming the heavy steel door shut behind us with a thunderous boom.
We tumbled down a flight of concrete utility steps, landing in the humid, dimly lit warmth of the city steam tunnels.
Ethan groaned, rolling onto his back, his shirt soaked through with fresh blood where the stitches in his shoulder had completely ruptured under the impact.
"Ethan!"
I scrambled over to him, tearing open his shirt to inspect the damage.
"Don't worry about the blood, Claire," he grunted, forcing himself into a sitting position against the concrete pipe.
"Did you keep the cylinder?"
I reached into my coat and pulled out the brass tube containing my father’s documents.
"I have it."
A cold, terrifying smile touched Ethan's bloody lips.
"Good."
"Because now we are going to pay a visit to the woman who thought she could burn down my family and steal my name."
Forty minutes later, beneath the flickering industrial lamps of our secure holding facility in the West Loop, the steel door of the interrogation suite swung open.
Victoria Hale sat tied to a simple wooden chair in the center of the concrete room, stripped of her designer furs, her makeup smeared with tears and sweat.
She looked up, her blue eyes widening in absolute horror as Ethan walked into the room, covered in soot, dried blood, and carrying the brass cylinder in his hand.
Marcus followed behind him, tossing a heavy black duffel bag onto the metal table.
Inside the bag were the cloned hard drives and encrypted satellite phones recovered from Victoria’s penthouse suite.
"Ethan, please!"
Victoria sobbed, thrashing against the ropes binding her wrists to the chair.
"You have to let me go!"
"The people Raymond hired... they are going to kill me if they find out I was taken!"
Ethan stopped two feet in front of her, leaning down until his dark, blood-streaked face was inches from hers.
"Raymond isn't coming to rescue you, Victoria," Ethan said, his voice softer than a whisper, yet terrifying enough to make her choke on her own breath.
"Raymond sent a hit team to burn down St. Jude's Library forty minutes ago."
"He assumed you were still inside our penthouse, which is currently surrounded by forty of my loyalist soldiers."
"You are completely, utterly alone."
He slammed the brass cylinder down onto the wooden table between them, unscrewing the cap and throwing the forged bank authorizations into her lap.
"Explain the four hundred million dollars routed into Claire's name, Victoria," Ethan commanded.
"Explain the forged signatures."
"Explain why my procurement codes were used to buy the rifle that tried to put a bullet through my wife’s skull this morning."
Victoria looked down at the documents, her lips trembling uncontrollably as her aristocratic facade shattered into a million pathetic pieces.
"It wasn't my idea!"
she shrieked, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks.
"Raymond said you would never leave her!"
"He said you had grown soft, that you were abandoning the old ways of the syndicate to play respectable corporate executive with an architect!"
"He promised me that if Claire was eliminated and framed for embezzlement, your family council would force you to marry me to merge the shipping routes!"
"And what about Thomas Avery?"
I stepped out from the shadows behind Ethan, my voice shaking with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"What did Raymond promise you for murdering my father?"
Victoria looked at me, a flicker of hideous, cornered malice surfacing through her tears.
"Your father was a fool, Claire!"
she spat, her voice shrill and desperate.
"He wouldn't take the money!"
"Raymond offered him ten million dollars to falsify the safety reports on the Majestic foundation, and the old man threw the check in his face!"
"He said he would go to the federal prosecutor on Thursday morning!"
"So Raymond made the call."
"And I gave him the schedule."
"I slipped the transponder into Thomas's coat pocket while I was hugging him at the symphony gala."
Ethan didn't shout.
He didn't hit her.
He simply reached down, took Victoria's chin in his massive, scarred hand, and squeezed until her jawbones popped under the pressure.
"You are going to make a phone call to Raymond Sterling right now, Victoria," Ethan whispered, his eyes void of all human mercy.
May you like
"You are going to tell him that the library is burned, that Claire is dead, and that you are waiting for him at the Majestic Theater."
"And if your voice shakes by even half an octave, I will let Marcus handle your retirement."
