Chapter 7 - THE RAIL YARD TELEGRAM
The silence in the grand foyer was suffocating.
The six elders of the Commission looked at each other in mounting panic.
The 16th Street rail junction was the commercial throat of Chicago.
If Marcus Vance seized the switching yards, eighty percent of the city's freight, fuel, and food distribution would freeze before sunrise.
Don Carmine stepped forward, his hands shaking slightly.
"Rhett... this is going too far," the old man stammered.
"Marcus has federal contacts."
"If he shuts down the rail lines, the Governor will deploy the National Guard."
"The entire Commission will be exposed!"
Rhett did not look at Don Carmine.
He looked down at Julian, who was still grinning through his bloody teeth on the marble floor.
"Your father took the rail yards, Julian?" Rhett asked softly.
"He took them forty minutes ago," Julian sneered, struggling against Leo’s iron grip.
"He has six hundred tons of pressurized propane tankers sitting on Track Nine."
"One radio signal from his phone,"
"and the entire South Loop turns into a crater."
Julian looked at me, his eyes burning with sickening triumph.
"You're coming back with me, Isa."
"You're going to sign the property releases for your father's estate."
"And then I'm going to lock you in a room where you will never see the sun again."
I didn't step behind Rhett.
I didn't cower.
I took half a step forward, looking down at the man who had terrorized my life for four years.
"My father didn't leave the bearer bonds in the estate, Julian," I said.
My voice was quiet, but it dropped like lead into the marble hall.
Julian’s grin faltered.
"What?"
"You spent four years tearing apart my apartment," I said, stepping closer until my shadow fell across his bruised face.
"You tore open my mattress."
"You smashed my mother's porcelain."
"You beat me until I couldn't walk because you thought I had the codes."
I reached up with my good hand.
I unclasped the heavy gold Valin necklace from my throat.
Beneath the gold chain, hanging from a simple piece of black dental floss against my bare skin, was a tiny, tarnished brass key.
A safety deposit key from the First National Bank of Cicero.
Julian’s eyes widened until the whites showed all around the iris.
"The key..." Julian gasped, his fingers clawing at the air.
"My father gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday," I said.
"He told me that if anything ever happened to him,"
"to give it to the only man in Chicago who kept his word."
I turned to Rhett.
I placed the tiny brass key into his open, scarred palm.
"The three million dollars in bearer bonds are in Box 412, Mr. Valin."
"Along with the original audio recordings of Marcus Vance ordering the hit on your father in 2020."
Every elder in the foyer stopped breathing.
Don Carmine’s mouth fell open.
The air in the house turned instantly to ice.
Rhett looked down at the tiny brass key in his palm.
His amber eyes flared with a terrifying, golden flame.
His father’s murder had remained an unsolved cold case in the syndicate files for four years.
Rhett had spent forty-eight months hunting ghosts, suspecting the New York families, suspecting the cartel, suspecting his own captains.
And the proof had been sitting in a bank vault in Cicero, protected by the girl who had poured his coffee every morning at six-forty.
Rhett closed his fingers over the key.
His knuckles turned white.
He looked down at Julian.
The predator was completely unleashed.
"Leo," Rhett commanded.
"Take Julian to the basement."
"Hook him to the car battery."
"Find out the exact radio frequency his father is using for the propane detonators."
"NO! RHETT, WAIT!" Julian shrieked as Leo and two operators dragged him across the marble floor toward the kitchen stairs, his boots kicking wildly.
"COMMISSION! HELP ME! HE'S BREAKING THE TREATY!"
The heavy steel fire door to the basement slammed shut, cutting off Julian’s screams in mid-syllable.
Rhett turned to the six trembling elders.
"The meeting is concluded, gentlemen," Rhett said, his voice flat, devoid of any mercy.
"Return to your estates."
"Lock your gates."
"And if a single one of you answers a phone call from Marcus Vance tonight,"
"I will personally visit your bedrooms before dawn."
The six old men didn't argue.
They turned and hurried toward the front entrance, practically tripping over their own overcoats to escape the house.
The heavy front doors shut with a booming thud.
The foyer fell into absolute silence.
Only the crackle of the distant fireplace and the steady ticking of the grandfather clock remained.
Rhett walked over to where I stood.
He looked at my face, then down at the empty space beneath my collar where the brass key had hung.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the heavy gold Valin necklace I had taken off.
He stepped behind me.
His large, warm hands gently gathered my dark hair, lifting it from my neck.
He fastened the gold chain around my throat once more.
His fingers lingered on the nape of my neck, warm and protective against my chilled skin.
"Fourteen months, Isa," he whispered near my ear.
"You carried the key to my father's murder in your apron pocket every single day."
I turned in his arms to face him.
"I didn't know who killed your father until last night, Rhett."
"My father's notebook only said 'The Wolf of 16th Street.'"
"I didn't know that was Marcus Vance until Julian shouted it in my apartment."
Rhett looked into my eyes.
His thumbs came up, cupping both sides of my face, his touch so tender it made my throat ache with tears.
"You saved my life today, Isa."
"And now I am going to end this war."
He leaned down and pressed a fierce, lingering kiss to my forehead.
"Stay in this house."
"Fifty men are on the roof."
"You are safe."
He turned toward the gun racks in the private armory.
"Wait," I called out, reaching for his arm.
He paused, looking back over his shoulder.
"Take the southern service track," I told him, my voice steady.
"My father used to run the maintenance crews at 16th Street."
"There is an old pneumatic switching lever hidden beneath the coal shed on Track Four."
"It disconnects Track Nine from the main propane line."
"If you flip that lever,"
"Marcus cannot detonate the tankers."
Rhett stared at me for three long seconds.
A slow, wolfish smile touched the corners of his lips.
"You really are a dangerous woman, Isa Brooks."
"I learned from the best, Don Valin."
Rhett drew his Kimber .45 and racked the slide.
"Leo!" Rhett roared into the hallway.
May you like
"Bring the convoy around!"
"We're going to the rail yards!"
