Chapter 6 - THE SECRET IN THE WALLSDawn broke over Chicago, casting a cold, gray light across the blood-stained terrace.
The estate was locked down tighter than a federal penitentiary. The remaining loyal security guards had secured the perimeter, rounding up the few mercenaries Marcus had managed to sneak onto the grounds. Marcus himself was tied to a chair in the basement wine cellar, nursing a broken nose and a bruised ego.
In the master drawing-room, Hannah Reed sat on a plush velvet sofa, a cold compress resting on her bruised cheek while a private doctor administered antibiotics for her severe pneumonia.
Ellie sat right beside her, clutching a fresh box of crayons and drawing furiously on a fresh pad of paper.
Damian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the gardens where his men were cleaning up the wreckage. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered immediately.
“Report,” Damian commanded.
“Boss,” came the voice of his most trusted capo, Tony, from the other end. “We searched Marcus’s quarters. We found something worse than weapons or cash. We found a hardline encrypted transmitter wired directly into the estate’s main server.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Where does the signal lead?”
“That’s the thing, boss. It doesn't lead to a rival family in Chicago. The ping is bouncing through three different shell corporations in the Cayman Islands... straight back to a holding company registered under your own family name.”
Damian went completely still. Family.
He only had one living blood relative left: his older brother, Julian Cross, who had supposedly been exiled to Europe ten years ago after attempting a hostile takeover of the syndicate’s shipping routes.
“Julian,” Damian whispered, the name tasting like ash in his mouth.
“Not just Julian,” Tony continued grimly. “According to the financial records we unlocked, Julian didn't act alone. He bought out Marcus six months ago, funding the inside job to strip your assets and leave you vulnerable for a hostile bankruptcy.”
Before Damian could process the revelation, a soft tug on his trouser leg drew his attention.
Ellie was standing beside him, holding up her latest drawing.
It wasn't a monster or a snake this time. It was a tall man with a smiling face, wearing a sharp suit, standing next to a big clock that pointed straight to midnight. But across the man’s face, Ellie had scribbled a giant red X.
“He’s coming through the big clock, Mr. Cross,” Ellie said innocently, pointing her little crayon at the grandfather clock in the main hallway. “The man with the cold eyes.”
Damian stared at the drawing, then slowly turned his gaze toward the antique grandfather clock standing at the far end of the hallway. A clock that his brother Julian had given him as a “reconciliation gift” five years ago.
With cold precision, Damian walked over to the grandfather clock, knelt down, and popped open the heavy wooden side panel.
Inside, nestled among the brass gears and ticking pendulums, wasn't just a clock mechanism.
It was a live, ticking digital bomb—and a high-definition listening device wired directly into the master speaker system.
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And a tiny digital screen on the explosive device was already counting down.
03:45... 03:44... 03:43...
