Chapter 4 - The War RoomBy noon, my penthouse had transformed from a luxury home into an operational headquarters.
Four of my most trusted lieutenants—men who managed our docks, our security details, and our financial front companies—sat around the massive glass dining table in the living room. Spread across the marble surface were printouts from Claire’s secret files, photos of my offshore accounts, and transcripts of federal wiretaps I hadn't even known existed.
"This is a disaster," Viktor’s son, Stefan, muttered, rubbing his jaw as he stared at the financial maps. "If the U.S. Attorney’s office has these documents, we aren't just looking at asset seizure. We’re looking at forty years in a federal penitentiary."
"They don't have them yet," I said coldly, standing at the head of the table with a glass of bourbon in my hand. "The files are here. In my penthouse. Which means Claire took copies, but the master archive is still in our possession."
"Unless she uploaded the cloud backup before she walked out," Michael pointed out quietly from the corner.
I turned my glare toward him. "Did she?"
"We checked the router logs," Michael said, swallowing hard. "Every file in that nursery was mirrored to an encrypted off-site server every night at midnight. Even if we burn the physical papers downstairs, the DOJ already has the digital package."
A heavy, suffocating silence settled over the room.
For twenty years, I had ruled Chicago because I was always three steps ahead of my enemies. I anticipated betrayals, bought off politicians, and eliminated threats before they could draw breath. But how do you fight an enemy who sleeps in your bed, wears your ring, and carries your child?
"Where is she?" Stefan asked, looking around the table. "If she’s a federal agent, she’s being protected by her agency. Safe houses in the suburbs, federal witness relocation—"
"No," I interrupted, shaking my head. "Claire isn't in witness protection. If she were working a standard DOJ op, she would have arrested me months ago. She wouldn't have waited until she was seven months pregnant to pack a suitcase and flee in the middle of the night."
"Then what is she doing?"
"She’s going rogue," I said, the realization dawning on me with terrifying clarity. "She didn't hand this case over to her superiors because her superiors would have arrested me quietly and put me in a white-collar prison. Claire didn't want a trial. She wanted to disappear."
"From the feds too?" Michael asked, frowning.
"From everyone," I said, slamming my glass down onto the table. "She’s using my offshore accounts, my front companies, and my network to vanish. She knows how my security grid works better than anyone in this room because she helped me design it."
The men around the table exchanged horrified glances.
"Boss," Stefan said slowly, "if she knows our security blind spots, she could dismantle our entire operation piece by piece without us even seeing her coming."
"Then we find her before she makes her next move," I commanded, straightening my jacket. "I want every contact we have in the Chicago police department, the federal courts, and the private aviation sector activated. She has a pregnant woman's medical needs, she has a newborn's worth of supplies to buy eventually, and she can't vanish off the face of the earth without leaving a footprint."
"And when we find her, Daniel?" Michael asked, his eyes holding mine with a heavy, serious weight. "What are you going to do? Arrest your own wife?"
May you like
I looked down at the empty glass in my hand.
"No," I said quietly. "I'm going to bring my family home."
