Chapter 8 - THE FALL OF LEONARD MERCER"You can't do this!" Mercer shrieked, backing all the way into the cabin of the helicopter as the pilot looked on in paralyzed horror, unsure whether to take off or surrender. "If I go down, I take half the city council, three federal judges, and the entire hospital board with me! You’ll destabilize half of Chicago’s financial infrastructure!"
"Then consider it urban renewal," Sebastian replied coldly.
He didn't strike the doctor. He didn't have to. Sebastian simply stepped inside the cabin, grabbed Mercer by the expensive silk lapels of his suit, and hauled him bodily out onto the concrete helipad, throwing him facedown into the puddles of rain and jet fuel.
Mercer groaned, spitting blood and rainwater, clutching his bruised ribs as Gabriel stepped up and slapped heavy steel zip-ties around his wrists with ruthless efficiency.
"This isn't over," Mercer wheezed, glaring up at Sebastian through bloodshot eyes. "The syndicate... the board... they won't let you reclaim the throne. A walking mob boss is a threat to every warlord between here and the coast. They’ll hunt you down before sunrise."
"Let them try," Sebastian said, turning his back on the disgraced surgeon. He looked down at his own hands, then stretched his legs out, rolling his ankles with a sense of freedom he hadn't experienced in twenty years. "I’ve spent two decades sitting in the dark, listening to men like you tell me what I couldn't do. I think it’s time I reminded the city who owns the light."
We retreated down the interior stairs just as the helicopter’s turbine whined into a desperate takeoff, fleeing into the stormy Chicago night without its primary passenger.
Twenty minutes later, we were back in the subterranean safehouse beneath the brewery.
Oliver was still sound asleep on his cot, his breathing steady and rhythmic, the small oxygen compressor humming softly beside him like a metronome of safety. I sank onto a folding chair beside his bed, letting out a long, shuddering breath that felt like it had been trapped inside my ribs for a lifetime.
Sebastian stood near the center of the room, leaning slightly against the heavy steel table, his legs taking his full weight without a single tremor.
Gabriel walked in through the heavy security door, tossing a secure burner phone onto the metal surface. "The package has been delivered to the federal prosecutor’s office, along with copies sent to three major investigative desks downtown. By morning, Mercer’s empire of corruption is going to implode faster than a house of cards."
"And the syndicate?" Sebastian asked, his voice dropping into its familiar, dangerous register.
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"They’re already calling," Gabriel smirked. "Word is spreading through the underground that the ghost in the wheelchair has finally stood up. Half of them are pledging loyalty. The other half are packing their bags for Miami."
Sebastian turned his dark eyes toward me. The harsh, fluorescent light of the underground vault caught the sharp angles of his face, softening just a fraction as he walked slowly across the concrete floor toward my chair.
