Chapter 16 - The Syndicate AwakensFor a long time, the only monsters in our lives were the ones hiding in our memories.
Eight months had passed since Richard Miller was hauled away in handcuffs. The cherry blossom tree in our backyard was in full bloom, a vibrant symbol of our new life. My engineering firm had just won the largest contract in Nashville’s history—a massive commercial skyscraper downtown. Amy’s boutique was booming, and Frederick was a healthy, rambunctious two-year-old.
We were untouchable. Until a rainy Thursday morning when Marcus showed up at my office unannounced.
He didn't knock. He just pushed the glass door open, his face completely devoid of color, and locked the deadbolt behind him.
"Marcus?" I stood up from my blueprints, instantly on high alert. "What's wrong? Is it Amy?"
"Amy is fine. I have a detail watching your house right now," Marcus said, pulling the blinds shut on my office windows. "It's Arthur Vance."
My stomach dropped. "What about him? I haven't heard a peep from that mobster in over a year."
"Nobody is going to hear from him ever again," Marcus said grimly. He tossed a manila folder onto my desk. "Chicago PD fished him out of Lake Michigan this morning. Two bullets in the back of the head. It wasn't a random hit, Connor. It was an execution."
I stared at the crime scene photos, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck. "Who did it?"
"His boss. Viktor Volkov," Marcus replied, sitting heavily in one of my guest chairs. "We intercepted chatter on a wiretap last night. Volkov found out about the USB drive you have. The one detailing his entire money-laundering operation through Vance’s car washes. Vance tried to hide his mistake, but in the syndicate, secrets always bleed out."
"But Vance is dead," I reasoned, trying to keep my rising panic in check. "Volkov cleaned house. Why does this involve me?"
"Because Volkov doesn't negotiate, Connor," Marcus leaned forward, his eyes deadly serious. "He doesn't do dead-man's switches. He views the very existence of that drive in your hands as an unacceptable liability. To Volkov, you aren't a guy who struck a deal. You are a loose end. And Volkov always burns loose ends."
Right on cue, the lights in my office flickered and died.
My computer screen went black. Outside my glass door, the entire engineering floor descended into chaos as servers crashed and phones went dead.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from an unknown, encrypted number.
We are coming for what is ours. You have 24 hours to hand over the drive, or we start taking pieces of your life. Starting with your legacy.
May you like
"Marcus," I said, holding up the phone. "They just hacked my firm."
"It's starting," Marcus warned, drawing his federal-issue sidearm. "We need to get you to a safe house. Now."
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