Chapter 7 - The Lakefront Chase and the Whisper of a Dead Ghost
While Mara slipped away toward Sterling’s private VIP suite on the mezzanine level to download the syndicate’s master transaction files, I kept Sterling cornered at the bar, driving up the bids on every charity lot to millions of dollars, ensuring the traitor couldn't leave the main floor without creating a massive public scene.
Suddenly, my earpiece crackled with static.
"Dante," Mara’s voice came through, strained and urgent. "The download is complete, but we have a major problem. Sterling isn't working for Wexler. Wexler was taking orders from someone else."
"Who?" I asked under my breath, keeping my smile fixed on a prospective donor.
"Victor Vance."
The name hit me like a physical blow. Victor Vance was an ex-CIA black-ops commander who was supposedly killed in a drone strike in the Middle East four years ago. He was also the man responsible for the car crash that killed my parents a decade earlier—a crash that had been officially ruled an accident.
"He’s alive, Dante," Mara whispered. "And he’s in Chicago. He’s running the Syndicate from a cargo freighter docked at Navy Pier. And they just tripped the silent alarm on Sterling’s terminal—they know I'm inside the network!"
"Get to the east fire escape now!" I commanded.
I shoved past Sterling, ignoring his frantic shouts, and sprinted up the service stairs. I met Mara on the third-floor landing just as three armed operatives in dark suits burst through the double doors at the end of the hall.
Gunfire ripped through the ornate wallpaper.
I grabbed Mara’s hand, pulling her down the service elevator shaft emergency ladder and into the underground parking garage. Finn was waiting in an armored Audi RS6, tires screeching as he slammed the passenger doors open.
"Get in!" Finn roared.
We dove into the backseat as a hail of bullets shattered the rear windshield. The Audi rocketed out of the parking garage, fishtailing onto the frozen asphalt of Lake Shore Drive.
Behind us, three heavily modified SUVs roared in pursuit, their high beams piercing the blinding snowstorm that was engulfing the city.
"They're not trying to capture us!" Mara shouted over the roar of the engine, reloading her sidearm. "They're trying to push us into the lake!"
A heavy SUV slammed into our rear quarter-panel, sending the Audi spinning across three lanes of ice. Finn fought the wheel, narrowly avoiding a concrete barrier, but the impact sent our vehicle crashing into an abandoned warehouse lot on the edge of the industrial shipping channel.
The Audi came to a violent halt against a shipping container, its radiator hissing steam into the freezing night air.
"Out! Move!" Finn yelled.
As we scrambled out of the smoking wreckage, a bullet tore through the darkness, catching Mara high in the right shoulder.
She let out a sharp gasp, collapsing against the icy container.
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"Mara!"
Pure terror—a feeling I hadn't experienced in years—gripped my chest. I scooped her into my arms, firing my weapon blindly into the blizzard with my free hand, while Finn laid down a curtain of heavy fire, covering our retreat into the labyrinth of dark shipping containers.
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