Chapter 5 - THE WAR ROOM AT MIDNIGHTThe basement of Carter’s Kitchen & Grill had undergone a rapid transformation. What used to be David Sterling’s hidden money-laundering vault was now a high-tech tactical command center. Monitors flickered with live satellite feeds, police scanner audio, and intercepted encrypted communications from the Iron Cross.
Vincent Kane sat at the head of a massive mahogany table, tracing the edge of a tactical map of downtown Chicago.
My mother sat nearby, holding a cup of chamomile tea that Marcus had brewed for her. I was fast asleep on a velvet couch in the corner, wrapped safely in Vincent’s expensive cashmere overcoat.
“Viktor Vanechkin is mobilizing his entire strike force,” Marcus reported, tapping furiously on a military-grade tablet. “Three distinct cells are moving toward our positions. They’re planning to level the block to erase any trace of the money laundering records we recovered from David’s safe.”
“Let them try,” Vincent said calmly, lighting an imported Cuban cigar. “For too long, Viktor has operated with impunity because local law enforcement is too corrupt to touch him. But he made one critical tactical error.”
My mother looked up, her voice steadying despite the lingering terror in her eyes. “What error?”
“He declared war on a little girl who knows how to keep records,” Vincent replied, a faint, chilling smile touching his lips. “Viktor thinks this is a turf war. It’s not. It’s an accounting audit. And I am closing his account permanently.”
Vincent pulled a sleek, encrypted satellite phone from his pocket and dialed a single number.
“General Vance? It’s Kane. The package is secured. Yes, invoke Federal Oversight Protocol 7-Delta. I want every asset frozen, every bank account seized, and every safehouse raided within the next forty minutes.”
Marcus stared at Vincent in awe. “Boss... you’re bringing in federal multi-agency task forces? Won’t that draw unwanted heat onto our own operations?”
“Heat?” Vincent blew a thin ring of smoke toward the ceiling. “When the federal government comes knocking on the front door of the Iron Cross, they won’t be looking at us. They’ll be looking at a mountain of federal tax evasion, racketeering, and international money laundering evidence that was conveniently delivered to their doorstep by a four-year-old child.”
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Vincent walked over to the velvet couch where I was sleeping and adjusted the cashmere coat over my shoulders. He whispered something so softly that even Marcus couldn't hear it.
Little did the Kane Syndicate know, Viktor Vanechkin had anticipated a police raid—and had planted a devastating contingency plan inside the restaurant’s ventilation system that would detonate within the hour.
