Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the BasementThe midnight wind howled through the deserted streets of downtown Chicago as the black Lincoln slipped through the shadows, its headlights dowsed to avoid detection.
St. Matthew’s Hospital loomed against the ink-black sky like an abandoned monolith. Its gothic stone facade was dark, save for a single amber light glowing above the emergency entrance. The demolition notices were already plastered across the front glass doors, stamped with the bold red seal of Cole Urban Holdings.
Samuel parked the car in the ambulance bay behind a row of overflowing industrial dumpsters.
"Boss, the perimeter alarms are tied directly to private security contracted by Horizon," Samuel warned, checking his watch. "If we step foot inside without authorization, they’ll lock the doors and call the cops—or worse, Vance’s private enforcers."
"They won't lock the doors if they think I'm here to sign the final paperwork," Nathan replied, pulling his phone from his pocket. He dialed Richard Vance’s private line.
It rang twice before a smooth, unbothered voice answered.
"Nathan? It's midnight. The board is getting restless. Where the hell are you? Do you have any idea what kind of penalty fees you're racking up by missing this signing?"
"I'm outside St. Matthew's, Richard," Nathan said calmly, watching the dark windows of the hospital.
A brief, heavy silence stretched over the line.
"St. Matthew's? What are you doing over there in the middle of the night?"
"I wanted to see my investment before I sign away twenty-three million dollars," Nathan lied smoothly, his voice devoid of emotion. "I want to walk through the basement levels myself. Make sure the structural integrity matches the blueprints you provided."
"That’s... entirely unnecessary, Nathan. The structural engineers already cleared it. Just come back to the office."
"No. I sign the papers when I see the sub-basement with my own eyes. Meet me at the service entrance in ten minutes, Richard. Bring the physical contract."
Another pause, longer this time. Then, a cold, calculated sigh echoed through the phone.
"Fine. Be stubborn. I'll meet you there in ten minutes. But Nathan? Don't play games with me. Sign the papers, take your twenty-three million, and let sleeping dogs lie."
The line went dead.
Nathan turned to Emily, who sat in the passenger seat clutching the diaper bag, her knuckles bruised from tension.
"He's coming," Nathan said. "Samuel, stay in the car with Emily. Keep the engine running. If we aren't back out in thirty minutes, take this flash drive, drive straight to the FBI field office on Dearborn Street, and don't stop for anything."
May you like
"Boss—" Samuel started, protest flashing in his eyes.
"Do it, Samuel," Nathan ordered, opening the car door. "That's an order."
