Chapter 5 - The River East Standoff
The afternoon sky over the Chicago River was heavy with grey rain clouds as Grant Mercer stepped out of his battered sedan inside the damp, concrete parking structure at River East.
Grant held a small black leather briefcase against his chest, his eyes darting frantically across the empty rows of parked vehicles. His hands shook so violently he could barely hold his car keys.
A black sleek SUV pulled up quietly, blocking his exit lane.
Grant reached for the revolver tucked into his belt, but before his fingers touched the grip, his cell phone buzzed in his palm.
He answered with a trembling voice. “Harrison? Is that you? I have the files on Kane—I need the medical clearance for my daughter right now!”
“Harrison isn’t coming, Grant,” a calm, clear female voice spoke through the speaker.
Grant froze. “Who is this?!”
“It’s Claire Bennett. The waitress whose jaw you almost broke last night.”
Grant’s breath caught in his throat. “Claire... look, I didn’t want to hurt you! Vance forced me! He said if I didn’t get you out of that diner, he’d disconnect my girl’s life support!”
“I know,” Claire’s voice was steady and remarkably soothing. “Which is why five minutes ago, Everett Kane’s private foundation paid your daughter’s medical bills in full for the next three years. She is safe, Grant. Her doctors have been instructed to proceed with her surgery tomorrow morning.”
Grant slumped against his car door, tears bursting from his eyes as he sank to his knees on the cold concrete. “You... you paid for her?”
“Everett paid for her,” Claire corrected. “Because we know you aren’t a killer. But right now, Assistant District Attorney Harrison is walking into this garage with four armed syndicate hitmen. They aren’t coming to collect your files, Grant. Vance ordered them to silence you so you couldn’t tell Everett about the decryption drive.”
On the far side of the parking structure, two dark sedans screeched around the ramp corner, their headlights blinding Grant through the rain. Four men in heavy coats stepped out, drawing silenced pistols.
“Grant! Get in the SUV!” Marcus yelled over a loudspeaker as the passenger door swept open.
Gunfire erupted across the concrete structure! Silenced rounds pinged off the metal pillars as Marcus provided suppressing fire.
Grant scrambled across the wet floor, clutching his leather briefcase, and threw himself into the back of Everett’s armored vehicle just as Marcus slammed the heavy door shut.
The SUV accelerated, ramming through the wooden security gate and bursting out into the torrential Chicago rain.
Inside the rear cabin, Grant sat shivering, gasping for air, looking across at Everett Kane and the young woman who sat calmly beside him.
Grant unzipped the leather briefcase with weeping relief and pulled out a worn, leather-bound journal wrapped in oiled silk.
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“Your father didn’t hide the micro-drive in a bank vault, Claire,” Grant sobbed, placing the journal into her hands. “He hid it inside the mechanism of the old tall grandfather clock sitting right in the center of the Liberty Grill. He knew no one would ever suspect a dusty antique in a twenty-four-hour diner.”
Claire touched the worn leather of her father’s journal, her eyes filling with quiet, triumphant tears. “He kept it where I could protect it every single day.”
