Chapter 3 - An Ultimatum in the Shadows
Gordon Pike sat in his mahogany office on Michigan Avenue, sweating through his custom-tailored collar despite the icy draft rattling the windows. Across from him sat Ray Howerin, his hands folded neatly over a silk tie, looking thoroughly disgusted.
"You lost the evidence, Gordon," Ray said, his tone icy. "You had three simple tasks: quiet the staff, replace the iron bracket, and let the inspectors clear the site. Now August is asking questions, and some banquet waitress is holding video proof of the swap."
"She's a nobody, Ray!" Pike spat, wiping his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief. "She lives in a rat-infested Bridgeport walk-up with a kid brother who draws airplanes. She doesn't have lawyers. She doesn't have leverage. I fire her, blackball her from every hospitality union in Illinois, and she disappears!"
"You fool," Ray hissed, leaning forward. "She didn't run to the police. She ran to August Sartori. And August Sartori doesn't forgive men who put his family in danger to cut construction margins."
Pike turned pale. "Did... did August say something?"
"August doesn't say things," Ray replied coldly. "He acts. But lucky for you, August isn't the only power at that table. Some of us think the Sartori family has grown soft under his mother’s sentimental influence. That riverfront deal belongs to the syndicate, not August's conscience. If that waitress talks to the state attorney, the whole project goes under federal scrutiny."
Ray opened a leather briefcase, pulling out a burner phone and a plain manila folder containing Willa's personal records, including Toby’s school schedule.
"Pay her a visit, Gordon. Don't touch her—not yet. August's eyes are on her. But make sure she understands what happens to people who don't know their place. Threaten the boy. Break her spirit. Retrieve that footage, or I will ensure you're the one holding the blame when the roof caves in on all of us."
Meanwhile, on the south side of town, Willa returned to her Bridgeport apartment. The radiator clanked rhythmically, filling the small rooms with dry, metallic heat. Toby was sitting at the table, watercolor pencils spread across a detailed schematic of a vintage Boeing engine.
"Willie?" Toby looked up, his brow furrowing as he noticed her pale face. "You look like you saw a ghost. Where were you all morning?"
Willa managed a weak smile, walking over to ruffle his unruly hair. "Just dealing with work, Toby. Paperwork stuff."
"Mr. Pike called our landline," Toby said casually, dipping a brush into water. "Said he needed to speak with you urgently about a severance package. Said he was sending someone over to explain the terms."
Cold dread pooled in Willa's stomach. Before she could answer, a heavy, deliberate knock echoed against the thin apartment door.
Willa pushed Toby gently toward his bedroom. "Stay inside, Toby. Lock the door."
May you like
She moved toward the entryway, peering through the peephole. Standing in the dimly lit hall were two men in dark coats she had never seen before. One of them tapped a heavy gold signet ring against the wood.
"Miss Doyle," a voice called out smoothly. "Open up. Let's have a civilized chat about your future before things get unnecessarily complicated."
