Chapter 27 - Blood in the Penthouse
While Clara fought for her life in the dark sub-basement beneath the Loop, thirty floors above them, the penthouse suite of the Voss Tower was bathed in the eerie red glow of emergency strobe lights.
The door to the private elevator bay burst open.
Eleanor Voss, soaked in freezing lake water, her silver hair wild and her fur coat dripping with mud, stumbled into her luxury sanctuary. Behind her, two surviving personal bodyguards dragged a heavy titanium strongbox from the wall safe behind a priceless oil painting.
"Get the helicopter on the roof!" Eleanor shrieked, her voice manic and cracked. "The Board’s strike teams are everywhere. If we aren't in the air toward Canada before dawn, they will butcher us all!"
"The helipad is locked down by the FAA, Mrs. Voss," one bodyguard replied, his hands trembling over the tablet. "The power grid across the Loop is down. The transponders are offline."
"I don't care about the FAA!" she screamed, slapping him across the face with a jewel-encrusted hand. "I own this city! I built this tower on the bones of better men than those corporate parasites! Start the rotors!"
Suddenly, the glass penthouse windows overlooking Lake Michigan shattered with an apocalyptic crash.
Two grappling hooks bit into the mahogany ceiling beams. A pair of Board commandos swung through the shattered floor-to-ceiling glass, boots crushing the shards into the imported Persian rugs. Suppressed rifles spat death before Eleanor’s bodyguards could even clear leather. Both men dropped dead, painting the ivory walls with arterial crimson.
Eleanor fell backward onto a white leather sofa, holding her hands up, her face twisted in utter disbelief.
A man stepped through the shattered window frame, stepping over the bodies without looking down. He wore an immaculate charcoal tailored suit beneath a storm-proof combat trench, his silver hair neatly combed despite the blizzard blowing into the room.
"Good evening, Eleanor," the man said in a chillingly cultured, quiet voice.
Eleanor gasped, her eyes bulging. "Alastair... Alastair Sterling. You... you’re the Chairman of the Board?"
"I have been for twelve years, Eleanor," Sterling said calmly, adjusting his cufflinks. "While you were playing your vulgar little games with stolen children and local corrupt politicians, the Board was purchasing the debt of every hospital, pharmaceutical firm, and utility company in the Midwest. You became a liability the moment you shoved Clara Bennett at that party."
"She ruined my son!" Eleanor spat, venom returning to her voice. "Thomas died because of her family! I took what was mine! Lily belongs to me!"
"Lily belongs to the trust," Sterling corrected smoothly, drawing a pearl-handled pistol from his coat. "And Clara’s unborn child belongs to the future. You, however... are merely a historical footnote."
"Wait!" Eleanor shrieked, scrambling back. "I have the clearance codes! You can't access the offshore accounts without my biometric key!"
Sterling smiled—a thin, lifeless movement of the lips. "We already extracted your digital profile from your yacht's servers fifteen minutes ago. Thank you for your service, Eleanor."
He squeezed the trigger.
May you like
A single shot cracked through the howling wind. Eleanor Voss slumped back onto the sofa, her wide, unblinking eyes staring up at the shattered glass ceiling as the Chicago blizzard drifted inside, covering her body in a shroud of pure white snow.
Sterling turned to his radio. "Target eliminated. Secure the freight tunnels beneath St. Jude’s. Bring me the child."
