Chapter 14 - The Counter-Strategy
The silence in the penthouse office stretched thin and suffocating, broken only by the faint hum of the building's central HVAC system.
Victor Vance swirled the amber scotch in his crystal glass, watching us with the detached amusement of a cat toying with cornered mice. 'You see, ladies, modern crime isn't carried out with alleyway muggings or masked thugs. It’s carried out through corporate charters, zoning amendments, and political campaign donations. By the time federal regulators notice an irregularity, the shell companies have already dissolved, and the politicians have already retired.'
'You're insane,' Voss muttered, keeping her service weapon leveled at his center mass. 'You think your little empire makes you a god, but you're just a common criminal hiding behind expensive suits.'
Victor chuckled softly, setting his glass down on the mahogany desk. 'Criminal, Detective? Or simply the only person in this corrupt city willing to do what is necessary to build something lasting? My brother Richard was a weakling. Julian Sterling was a vain puppet. But you, Claire... you and I are cut from the same cloth.'
'Don't ever compare me to you,' I snapped, stepping out from behind Voss’s shoulder. 'You're a monster who murdered my mother for real estate equity.'
'I am a realist,' Victor corrected sharply, his polite veneer slipping for a fraction of a second to reveal the cold, calculating sociopath beneath. 'And reality dictates that you two cannot leave this room alive.'
He reached casually into his jacket pocket.
In a flash of tactical instinct, Detective Voss lunged forward, tackling Victor across the mahogany desk just as his hand came out holding a small, heavy black detonator switch.
The desk shattered under their weight, scattering papers, pens, and the heavy leather ledger across the floor in a flurry of white and brown.
'Claire! Run!' Voss yelled, struggling to pin Victor’s arms against the splintered wood as the older man fought back with terrifying, unnatural strength for his age.
'I'm not leaving you!' I shouted, grabbing the heavy brass desk lamp from the floor and bringing it down with all my remaining strength across Victor’s shoulder.
Victor grunted in pain, his grip on the detonator slipping.
With a frantic movement, I snatched the leather-bound ledger from the floor, tucked it securely under my uninjured arm, and sprinted toward the private elevator doors at the end of the hall.
I punched the emergency call button repeatedly. The digital display blinked red: *System Override Active.*
The elevator wasn't coming.
Footsteps echoed up the stairwell door beside the elevators—heavy, boots hitting metal with rapid, rhythmic violence. The private security detail had breached the forty-second floor.
I turned around, scanning the high-tech corporate office for another way out. My eyes locked onto the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the Chicago River forty-two stories below.
Beside the window hung heavy velvet fire-escape rope ladders stored inside an emergency maintenance cabinet.
May you like
Without a second thought, I smashed the glass casing of the cabinet with my elbow, grabbed the heavy braided steel cable, secured the heavy carabiner clip around my waist, and looked out into the freezing Chicago night.
Behind me, the stairwell door burst open with a deafening crash.
