Chapter 2 - Inside the Mercer CitadelThe vehicle moved with terrifying speed through the sleeping streets of Chicago, blowing through red lights with the implicit confidence of men who answered to no law higher than their own.
Claire sat in the backseat sandwiched between two unsmiling enforcers whose collective silence felt heavier than a physical threat. Her mind raced frantically. She tried to replay the moments before she jumped into the river. Had she seen anyone else? Had there been a woman running away, like a ghost in the fog?
She couldn't remember. The adrenaline had blotted out everything except the red jacket sinking beneath the black water.
The SUV finally slowed down, turning through heavy wrought-iron security gates that slid open automatically into a sprawling, walled estate tucked away on the northern outskirts of the city. A massive stone mansion, lit by discreet perimeter lamps, loomed against the cloudy sky like a modern-day fortress.
The vehicle came to a halt in front of the grand portico.
Claire was escorted out into the courtyard, the bitter wind biting through her wet scrubs. She was led through towering double doors into a cavernous foyer featuring marble floors, soaring ceilings, and an imposing mahogany staircase.
Roman Mercer was already waiting, having stripped off his wet overcoat to reveal a tailored charcoal suit vest over a crisp white shirt. He stood by a massive stone fireplace where a roaring fire cast dancing amber shadows across the room.
"Sit," Roman said, pointing to a leather armchair near the hearth.
Claire didn't move. "I'd prefer to stand, thank you. And I'd prefer to call an Uber, considering I've committed no crime other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time while your son decided to go for an unseasonable swim."
Roman stared at her for a long, calculating moment. Then he walked slowly toward her, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous room. He stopped just two feet away, close enough for Claire to smell the expensive blend of cedarwood, coffee, and rain on his skin.
"In my world, Ms. Bennett, coincidences are just poorly planned assassinations," Roman said quietly. "My enemies know that Ethan is my only weakness. Six months ago, someone tried to poison my supply chain. Three months ago, a car ran off the road near our summer house. And tonight, my eight-year-old son falls into a freezing river in a secluded sector of the city—right where an off-duty ER nurse happens to be taking a midnight stroll."
"I told you, the train line was shut down!" Claire argued, her voice rising in frustration. "Check my badge! Call Lakeview General! Ask the charge nurse—I just worked a twelve-hour shift saving people who actually appreciate it!"
"I already had my men check," Roman replied smoothly. "Your shift ended at ten. You left the hospital at ten-fifteen. The riverfront path is a twenty-minute walk out of your way if you're heading to your apartment on Racine Street."
Claire froze. A cold knot twisted in her stomach.
"I... I wanted some air," she stammered, realizing how thin her story sounded under the microscope of a paranoid mafia boss. "I walk that way sometimes when I'm stressed."
"Stressed," Roman repeated, skepticism dripping from every syllable.
Before he could press further, a middle-aged woman in a neat grey dress hurried down the grand staircase, carrying a fresh set of clothes and a warm towel.
"Mr. Mercer," the woman said respectfully, bowing her head slightly. "Dr. Sterling has examined Ethan. He's suffering from mild hypothermia and exhaustion, but his lungs are clear. He's sleeping now."
Roman’s shoulders relaxed by a fraction—the only visible sign of the immense relief washing over him. "Thank you, Martha. Have the kitchen prepare a hot meal and bring it up to him."
"Yes, sir." Martha turned her kind, lined face toward Claire, taking in the shivering, soaked young woman standing near the fireplace. "Oh, you poor dear. You're freezing to death."
"I'm fine," Claire muttered, though her teeth were chattering so hard she could barely articulate the words.
"She is not leaving this room until I have answers, Martha," Roman said flatly.
"With all due respect, sir," Martha countered, her voice carrying the unshakeable authority of someone who had raised Roman Mercer himself, "the young lady jumped into a freezing river to pull your son out of the water. Whether you trust her or not, killing her with pneumonia in your drawing room is poor hospitality, even for us."
Roman stared at the housekeeper, completely unaccustomed to being talked back to in front of strangers. But he didn't argue. He simply gave a sharp, reluctant nod.
"Take her to the guest wing, Martha. Give her dry clothes. Put a guard outside the door."
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"Under guard?" Claire protested, her eyes flashing with anger. "Are you out of your mind? I'm not a prisoner!"
"You're a guest of interest, Ms. Bennett," Roman said, turning his back to stoke the fire. "And until I verify every single word you've said, that door stays locked."
