Chapter 2 - THE MIDNIGHT SUMMONS
The grandfather clock in the corner of the study struck 2:30 AM with a deep, resonating chime.
"Where is Gideon right now?" Rafe asked, his eyes still fixed on the dark river.
"At his residence in Lincoln Park," Vince replied, pulling a tablet from his coat. "Though our perimeter team reports his private vehicle left the estate garage twenty minutes ago. Automated toll scanners caught his plates heading south toward the warehouse district."
South toward the warehouses—the very district where the Castellanes stored their secondary import ledgers and where Gideon supposedly kept his private archives.
"Get the cars," Rafe said, turning away from the window with a sudden, fluid movement. "We're going for a drive."
"Boss, it could be a diversion," Vince warned, stepping forward. "If someone is trying to crack our system or eliminate you from inside the Ardmore—"
"The Ardmore is locked down," Rafe interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, carrying the terrifying authority that had kept the Chicago Riverfront under his thumb. "And the woman in the gray uniform proved something tonight, Vince. She proved that someone wants me dead before sunrise. If Gideon is running, I want to know why he’s racing a dead man's clock."
Ten minutes later, a convoy of three black armored sedans slid out of the Ardmore’s underground garage into the freezing Chicago mist. The tires hissed against the wet asphalt as they tore southward through the empty downtown canyons, heading toward the derelict industrial yards where the city's dark history was written in rust and concrete.
Inside the lead vehicle, Rafe sat in the back seat, his fingers resting over the grip of a customized Sig Sauer tucked into his holster. He pulled a small, crumpled piece of paper from his pocket—the fake maintenance report the technician had handed him after the elevator "accident."
He unfolded it, running his thumb over the signature of the maintenance inspector. A man named Thomas Miller.
Rafe pulled out his phone and dialed Vince’s secure comms channel. "Vince. Find Thomas Miller. Not tomorrow. Now. I want to know if he signed that inspection report because he's incompetent, or because someone put a gun to his wife's head."
"On it," Vince's voice crackled through the speaker.
May you like
As the car accelerated down the deserted highway, Rafe closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, he didn't see the burning lights of the city or the face of a traitorous advisor. He saw the gray cleaning uniform. He saw the grease-stained hands holding the squeegee with absolute, unshakable steadiness.
And he heard her voice echoing in his mind, clear and cold as winter ice: You're going to do exactly what I say. For the next ten seconds.
