Chapter 7 - THE ABANDONED DRY-DOCKThe Chicago riverfront at 4:00 a.m. was a ghost town of rusted cranes, decaying brick warehouses, and abandoned dry-docks. The fog rolled in thick off Lake Michigan, swallowing the streetlights and turning the shadows into living things.
Matteo pulled me through a rusted chain-link fence into the skeletal frame of an old shipping warehouse. Inside, rows of rotting wooden crates stretched out into the gloom.
"We need to find a phone or a signal," I whispered, shivering against the chill of the lake wind cutting through my damp clothes. "If we can reach federal internal affairs—real ones, not Thomas’s crew—we can expose what he did at Saint Jude."
Matteo stopped dead in his tracks, turning to look at me with a heavy, incredulous sigh. "Elena... do you really think the system that broke you is going to save you now?"
"What choice do I have?" My voice cracked, frustration and exhaustion finally boiling over. "Spend the rest of my life running from the mob and corrupt federal agents? I want my name back! I want my life back!"
"Your life as a trauma nurse died the night Thomas Vance signed your termination papers," Matteo said harshly, stepping close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath. "The only way to get justice in this city isn't through a courtroom. It's through a grave."
"That is not justice, that's just murder!"
"No," a cold, smooth voice echoed from the shadows above. "That’s business."
We both froze.
From the rusted catwalk overhead, Agent Thomas Vance stepped into the pale beam of a security floodlight he had manually activated. In his hand, he held a sleek, silenced pistol, pointing it straight down at Matteo’s chest.
Behind him, four armed mercenaries fanned out along the railing, their laser sights painting red dots across our chests.
"Well, well, well," Thomas smiled, his voice dripping with condescension. "The mob boss and his favorite little charity case. How touching. I must admit, Matteo, I didn't think you had it in you to crawl through sewage for a hired nurse."
Matteo didn't flinch. He slowly shifted his weight, shielding me and Leo with his own body. "You're a long way from your desk, Thomas. Federal pension doesn't cover tactical gear."
"Federal pensions are for bureaucrats," Thomas laughed softly, stepping closer to the edge of the catwalk. "I realized a long time ago that if you want real power, you don't work for the government—you buy the men who run it. And Saint Jude Memorial was just my first piggy bank."
Thomas’s eyes shifted down to me, cold and predatory. "And you, Elena. You just had to look at that narcotics log, didn't you? You just had to play the hero."
"You killed those patients," I whispered, rage overriding my terror. "You drained the oxygen supplies to cover up the pharmaceutical theft!"
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"Collateral damage," Thomas smiled indifferently. "Just like the little boy in your arms is going to be collateral damage tonight."
Matteo’s muscles tensed beneath his jacket. I knew the exact second he decided to move.
