Chapter 6 - The Setup
The silence inside the Drake penthouse was shattered by the sudden, deafening thud of a flashbang grenade exploding in the outer corridor.
Rosa screamed, throwing herself across the king-sized bed and pinning Lily beneath her body just as the master bedroom door was kicked off its hinges. The smell of ozone and burnt gunpowder flooded the luxurious room, accompanied by the heavy, heavy thud of tactical boots.
"Secure the assets!" a voice shouted through a respirator mask.
Before Rosa could fight back, two large men in unmarked black gear lifted her off the bed. She kicked and clawed, tearing her nails against their ballistic vests, but their grip was like iron. Another man scooped Lily from the pillows. The three-year-old woke up screaming, her tiny fists pounding futilely against the man’s heavy chest, her pink star pajamas contrasting sharply with the cold black tactical gear.
"Mama! Mama!" Lily wailed, her big brown eyes wide with a terror she had never known.
"Let her go! Take me, just let her go!" Rosa screamed, a primal, maternal rage taking over her entire body. She bit down hard on the forearm of the man holding her, tasting copper as his sleeve tore, but a heavy hand slammed a cloth soaked in chemical sedative over her nose and mouth.
The world turned violently upside down, and within seconds, the room went black.
By the time Marcus arrived back at the Drake Hotel at 5:12 AM, the penthouse was a crime scene. Chicago police officers were already cordoning off the hallway. The two private security guards Marcus had left behind were being treated by paramedics on the floor, both unconscious but breathing.
Marcus walked into the master bedroom. His face was a mask of absolute, terrifying stillness. He looked at the rumpled sheets of the bed, the scattered crayons on the floor, and the tiny, winged-horse stuffed animal that had been stepped on by a heavy combat boot.
He picked up the toy, his fingers tightening around the soft fabric until his knuckles turned white.
"They took them," Arthur said, stepping into the room behind him, his voice trembling slightly. "Vance bypassed the main lobby entirely using a forged service elevator key. It was a coordinated strike, Marcus. Victoria must have had a hidden communications line from the inside."
Marcus didn't yell. He didn't punch the wall. The anger inside him had passed the point of noise; it was now a cold, hyper-focused engine of destruction.
"She used the jail," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. He turned around, his eyes flashing with a predatory light that made even his seasoned attorney take a step back. "She thinks she used me. She thinks she broke my defensive line."
He pulled his personal phone from his pocket. It was already ringing. An unlisted number.
Marcus pressed the receiver to his ear. He didn't say hello.
"I have them, Marcus," Vance’s voice came through the speaker, accompanied by the faint, low rumble of a marine engine in the background. "They're perfectly safe for now. But the temperature out here on the water is dropping fast. If you want to see the little girl wear those star pajamas again, you’re going to do exactly what I say."
"If you touch a single hair on either of them," Marcus said, each word dropping like an anvil, "there isn't a corner of this earth deep enough to hide you from me, Vance."
"I don't need to hide," Vance laughed, a cold, dry sound. "I need your signature. There’s a high-profile charity gala tonight at the Navy Pier Ballroom. All your city’s elite will be there, including your primary logistics board members. You’re going to attend, Marcus. You’re going to publicly announce your resignation and hand over controlling interest to our shadow shell company. If you don't, the maid and the child go into the lake."
The line went dead.
Marcus lowered the phone. He looked at Arthur. "They’re at the lake. Vance thinks he’s clever using the gala as a distraction, but he’s keeping them close to his extraction point."
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"Marcus, the Navy Pier gala is heavily secured, but if you go there alone—"
"I’m not going alone," Marcus interrupted, throwing the stuffed horse onto the bed and pulling a secure drive from his pocket. "Victoria wanted a public execution of my company. Tonight, I'm going to give her a front-row seat to her own."
