Chapter 2 - Echoes from the PastThe discovery at the desk tore open old wounds Adrian had spent a lifetime cauterizing with power and fear. Dismissing Claire with a sharp wave of his hand, he summoned Vincent and his head of security, Marcus, into the war room behind the library. The massive slate table was soon littered with digitized photographs of the old Moretti transport routes and newly decrypted financial wires routed through
"Trace the IP address of the wire transfer," Adrian ordered, his voice cold and flat. "I want to know every individual who has touched that account since the merger twenty years ago."
"Boss, it's not just a corporate account," Marcus said, laying down a faded newspaper clipping from the week after the 2004 crash. "Look at the board members of the shell company. They aren't random investors. They are the same men who sat on your father's advisory board—the ones who bought out his shares for pennies after his death."
Adrian stared at the names. Julian Vance. Arthur Mercer. And a third name, heavily redacted in the original police files: Victor Sterling.
Sterling. The current front-runner for the Chicago mayoral race, a man hailed as a reformer and a champion of clean government. In public, Sterling was a philanthropist. In private, according to the underworld rumors, he was the architect who had carved up the city's infrastructure after the old guard was swept away.
While Adrian waged a silent war in the shadows, Claire found herself trapped in the crossfire. Back in the mansion’s west wing, where she had been tending to her son Owen, a subtle shift in the household's atmosphere did not go unnoticed. The guards at the gates had doubled. Armed patrols swept the perimeter every twenty minutes. Margaret Sloan, the stoic estate manager, looked paler than usual as she delivered a tray of milk for Owen.
"You need to be careful, Claire," Margaret muttered, keeping her voice low as she adjusted the curtains. "Mr. Moretti’s enemies aren't just rival syndicates anymore. Someone is poking a sleeping bear, and when Adrian moves, the whole city shakes."
"He's carrying a burden that isn't his," Claire replied, folding a small blanket. "He thinks he destroyed his own family. If he finds out the crash was an assassination, he’ll tear this city apart stone by stone to find the people responsible."
"That," Margaret said grimly, "is precisely what terrifies me."
That evening, as the bitter January wind howled against the reinforced glass windows, Claire walked down to the grand kitchen to warm a bottle of milk. The mansion was cavernous and dark, illuminated only by the faint amber glow of wall sconces. As she passed the corridor leading to the underground conservatory, a shadow detached itself from the pillars.
May you like
A gloved hand suddenly clamped over her mouth, and a sharp blade pressed against her collarbone.
"Don't make a sound," a low, raspy voice hissed in her ear. "Tell Moretti that the past stays buried, or the next message won't be delivered to a servant. It’ll be delivered to your son."
