Chapter 2 - The Trap Closes“Get behind me!” Nathan shouted, his protective instincts overriding everything else as he shoved me behind his broad frame.
The three men approaching us weren't muggers or street thugs; they moved with the rigid, synchronized precision of corporate security turned corporate mercenaries. Leading them was a sharp-faced man with cold eyes—Victor Vance’s right-hand enforcer, a corporate fixer named Marcus Vance (no relation to the criminal from the earlier corporate scandals, but equally ruthless).
“Well, well, well,” the enforcer smirked, stopping a few feet away. His hands stayed casually inside his wool coat, but I could see the heavy outline of a holster beneath his arm. “Mr. Carter. Playing knight in shining armor by the Chicago River. How touching. And Miss Bennett, I presume? The brilliant little analyst who thinks she can outsmart Sterling Global's auditing team.”
Nathan stepped forward, his voice dropping an octave into that terrifying, icy register that made Wall Street executives tremble. “You’re trespassing, Miller. And you’re about six seconds away from federal prison. My security detail was tracking your vehicles the second you entered Northstar property.”
Miller laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “Your security detail, Mr. Carter, is currently being entertained across town by a very expensive diversion. You’re entirely alone out here. And Miss Bennett’s laptop—the one containing the decrypted files on Sterling’s offshore accounts—is currently sitting in her apartment waiting to be ‘discovered’ by the police after a tragic, accidental break-in.”
My blood ran cold. My laptop. I had left it on my kitchen counter.
“You broke into my home?” I gasped, stepping out from behind Nathan.
“Let’s call it a preventative measure,” Miller smiled coldly, signaling his men to fan out and surround us. “Now, Mr. Carter, you’re going to sign the acquisition waiver handing Northstar’s core patents over to Sterling, and Miss Bennett is going to sign a confession stating she manipulated the financial records to frame Mr. Vance. Do that, and you both walk away breathing.”
For a terrifying second, I looked at Nathan. The billionaire empire he had spent a decade building was being held hostage right here on a dark riverwalk, and I was the leverage they were using to crush him. I knew what was expected of a woman in my position—to panic, to surrender, to break down.
Instead, a cold fury ignited deep inside my chest, burning away the last remnants of my fear.
“He’s not signing anything,” I said, my voice cutting through the night air with absolute clarity.
Miller raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is that right, little analyst? And what are you going to do about it? You’re just a twenty-eight-year-old nobody who’s never even had a real boyfriend, let alone faced real danger.”
Nathan didn't hesitate. Before Miller could blink, Nathan lunged forward, executing a textbook martial arts takedown that sent the enforcer crashing hard against the concrete railing. The two remaining guards surged forward, but Nathan’s years of private combat training—kept hidden from the public eye—turned the walkway into a whirlwind of flying fists and heavy thuds.
“Run, Maya!” Nathan shouted over the sounds of the struggle, blocking a punch and driving his elbow into a guard’s chest. “Get to the street! Flag down anyone!”
I didn't run. Instead, I grabbed a heavy iron trash receptacle near the bench, hoisted it with every ounce of adrenaline I possessed, and hurled it directly into the path of the third guard as he tried to blindside Nathan from behind. The heavy metal crashed into his shins with a sickening crunch, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Miller, struggling to his feet with a bloodied lip, glared at us with pure venom. “You think this is over? Sterling owns the board, Carter! You’re finished!”
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Sirens began wailing in the distance—not a diversion, but the real Chicago Police Department tactical units, alerted by the silent panic button Nathan wore embedded in his signet ring. Red and blue lights painted the Chicago skyline as police cruisers swarmed both ends of the pedestrian bridge.
Miller and his men bolted toward their sedans, tires screeching as they fled into the night, leaving us standing breathless amidst the flashing lights.
