Chapter 3 - The Broken Fortress
Adrian stood in the middle of LaSalle Street until his security detail, led by Marcus, caught up with umbrellas drawn.
“Boss, get inside,” Marcus urged, scanning the high rooftops with his hand inside his coat.
Adrian turned on him, his eyes completely bloodshot.
“Track that sedan,” Adrian commanded, his voice trembling with an icy, lethal calm.
“Every traffic camera between here and the Kennedy Expressway. Find out who owns the plate, who booked the driver, and where she’s heading.”
“Right away, Mr. Mercer,” Marcus replied, already pulling his tactical radio from his belt.
Thirty minutes later, Adrian stood in the center of their Lincoln Park penthouse.
The massive apartment was suffocatingly quiet.
There were no packed suitcases in the foyer, no missing paintings, no signs of a dramatic escape.
Claire had taken only her canvas tote bag, her winter coat, and the old woolen scarf her grandmother had knitted for her.
On the granite kitchen island sat her house keys, her corporate credit card, and the deed to the property he had tried to force upon her.
Beside the keys was a small white envelope with his name written in her neat, flowing script.
Adrian’s fingers shook as he tore the seal open.
Inside was a single handwritten note:
“You looked for a monster in every room, Adrian, until you created one in your own mirror. I am taking the only part of this family that is still clean. Do not look for us.”
Adrian collapsed onto the barstool, clutching the paper against his chest as a jagged, ragged breath escaped his throat.
Us.
Not me.
Us.
She had carried the weight of two tiny lives alone while he slept in the east wing, brooding over a grain of manufactured suspicion.
The heavy front door swung open, and Victor Ross stepped into the penthouse, shaking rain from his cashmere overcoat.
Victor was Adrian’s second-in-command, a man who had stood beside him during the harbor wars of 2021.
“Adrian,” Victor said smoothly, walking into the kitchen with an unhurried, confident stride.
“Holloway told me the divorce is finalized. It’s for the best, brother. A woman who meets with our competitors’ associates cannot be trusted inside the perimeter.”
Adrian didn't look up from the letter.
“Who took that photograph at the Langford Hotel, Victor?”
Victor paused for a fraction of a second, his posture subtly tightening.
“One of my spotters on the north side. Why?”
“And who told Claire that my medical accounts were being watched by the Colombos?”
The room seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant.
May you like
Victor’s hand shifted an inch closer to his hip.
Adrian slowly raised his head, his dark eyes hollow, cold, and entirely devoid of mercy.
