Chapter 8 - The Shadow at the Door
At 12:28 AM, a massive black Cadillac Escalade, equipped with heavy snow chains on all four tires, turned slowly onto Albany Avenue.
The chains clattered with a rhythmic, metallic crunch against the packed ice, throwing plumes of snow against the parked cars lining the curb.
Inside the heated leather interior, Victoria Vance sat in the back seat, staring out the tinted window.
Beside her, Marcus Sterling was hunched over his iPad, his face pale, answering a barrage of frantic emails from the corporate board of directors and the city’s legal counsel.
“The State’s Attorney has already accepted the referral,” Sterling said, his voice trembling slightly. “Hale was stopped by building security while trying to clear out his office safe. He had sixteen thousand dollars in cash kickbacks from the secondary HVAC contractors hidden in his desk. He’s in CPD custody right now at the 18th District station.”
Victoria didn't answer him. Her eyes were searching the empty sidewalks.
“Stop the car,” she told the driver suddenly.
The Escalade slid to a smooth halt near the corner of Sunnyside and Albany.
Fifty yards ahead, a solitary figure was trudging up the concrete steps of a weathered red-brick apartment building.
The man was walking with a heavy limp, his shoulders hunched, his canvas jacket crusted with a thick layer of ice. He reached the heavy wooden front door, fumbled with a set of keys with hands that could barely grip the brass, and pushed the door open before disappearing into the vestibule.
Marcus Sterling looked out the window. “Is that Brooks?”
“Yes,” Victoria said, opening her door.
“Victoria, wait,” Sterling said, reaching for his coat. “Let me go. I’ll offer him a financial settlement. A non-disclosure agreement with a six-figure check. We can make this disappear before the morning news cycles—”
Victoria turned and looked at Sterling with such absolute, withering scorn that the COO froze mid-sentence.
“If you speak another word of corporate public relations tonight, Marcus, I will remove you from your position before sunrise,” Victoria said, her voice like steel. “You do not understand what happened tonight. You think this is a PR crisis to be managed. This was a man standing between your negligence and six hundred bodies in morgue bags.”
She stepped out of the vehicle into the freezing snow, her cashmere wrap billowing in the wind, and walked toward the apartment entrance.
Inside the building, the air smelled of radiator heat, old wood, and the faint, sweet scent of cinnamon.
Daniel Brooks was pulling himself up the stairs, one agonizing step at a time, using the wooden handrail to haul his dead weight toward the third floor.
His coat was dripping melting slush onto the worn linoleum steps.
When he reached Apartment 3B, he stopped. He leaned his forehead against the painted wood of the door, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat, trying to brush away the soot, the melting frost, and the exhaustion. He didn't want Lily to see him looking like a ghost.
He put his hand on the brass doorknob.
May you like
Before he could turn it, the door swung open.
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