Chapter 10 - The Bait on the River
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The Chicago River was shrouded in thick, rolling fog as the clock struck four-thirty in the morning.
The abandoned industrial district along South Water Street was silent, save for the rhythmic lapping of black water against rotting wooden pylons.
A single warehouse stood at the end of the pier, its corrugated metal roof rusted and weathered by decades of winter storms.
Inside, two luxury black sedans were parked with their headlights cutting through the damp darkness.
Julian Vance stood near the hood of the lead car, checking his gold Rolex.
He was a tall, sharp-featured man of forty-five, wearing a tailored charcoal overcoat and leather driving gloves.
Four armed private security contractors stood around him, carrying automatic submachine guns concealed under long jackets.
"Where is she?" Vance muttered to his chief enforcer.
"She texted ten minutes ago, Mr. Vance," the enforcer replied.
"She said the driver was bringing the private ambulance with the mother inside."
"The documents better be signed properly," Vance said, his voice cold and calculated.
"If that old woman’s signature looks shaky, the probate judge won't certify the asset transfer."
"Vanessa assured us the drugs would leave her compliant but capable of holding a pen," the enforcer noted.
"Good," Vance smirked, lighting an expensive cigar.
"Once those riverfront docks are under our corporate banner, Luca Moretti won't have enough leverage to run a hot dog stand in this city."
The sound of a heavy diesel engine rumbled in the distance.
Through the warehouse doors, a white medical transport van slowly pulled onto the concrete floor.
Its headlights illuminated Vance, who raised a gloved hand to shield his eyes.
The van came to a halt twenty yards away.
The engine cut out, plunging the warehouse back into echoing silence.
"Vanessa!" Vance called out, taking a step forward.
"Did you bring the signed guardianship forms?"
The rear doors of the ambulance did not open gently.
They burst open with an explosive crash.
Instead of a bedridden old woman, four heavily armed tactical operators in unmarked black vests poured out of the vehicle.
Red laser dots instantly danced across the chests of Vance’s security contractors.
"Drop your weapons!" Marco’s voice boomed through a megaphone from the shadows above the gantry.
Vance’s guards reached for their submachine guns, but they never got the chance.
Three sharp, suppressed rifle shots echoed from the rafters.
The weapons were shot directly out of the guards' hands, sending metal spinning across the concrete floor.
The contractors immediately dropped to their knees, raising their hands in surrender.
Julian Vance stood frozen, his cigar falling from his lips into a puddle of oily water.
From behind the headlights of the ambulance, a single figure emerged.
Luca Moretti walked forward, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his dark cashmere coat.
Beside him walked Claire, holding a thick manila folder under her arm.
"Good morning, Julian," Luca said, his voice smooth as silk.
Vance took a frantic step backward, his face drained of all color.
"Luca... what is the meaning of this?"
"I believe you were waiting for my mother’s signature," Luca replied, stopping five paces away.
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"Unfortunately, she was busy having breakfast."
"So she sent me and her new chief of staff to deliver her message instead."
