Chapter 2 - The Silent FloorThe sun hadn’t crested the Chicago skyline when my Maybach pulled into the subterranean garage of Blackwell Tower at 6:30 AM. June sat in the passenger seat, wearing her best coat—a worn camel-wool jacket that couldn't block the November chill. I had sent a secure car to bring her mother and children up from Peoria overnight, placing them in a private suite at the Peninsula with instructions that they be fed, warmed, and guarded by my personal security detail.
Marcus Vance was already in his office on the forty-second floor. He was always early, a pristine machine of gray wool suits, gold-rimmed glasses, and calculated efficiency.
When I walked into his sprawling corner office overlooking a foggy Lake Michigan, he didn't look up from his tablet immediately. "Julian. You look like hell. Still not sleeping?"
"Not a wink, Marcus," I said, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling glass panel. I didn't sit down. "Tell me about Blackwell Domestic Services. How is it structured?"
Marcus paused, his fingers hovering over his glass screen. A microscopic flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes—gone in a fraction of a second, but I had spent twenty years reading men who lied for a living.
"It's a standard high-end placement subsidiary," Marcus replied smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. "We handle vetting, payroll, and household staffing for elite estates across the North Shore. Margins are slim due to liability insurance, but it protects your personal brand from direct labor disputes. Why? Did something happen at the mansion?"
"Something did," I turned around, my eyes locked on his. "A ghost showed up in my pantry last night. Her name is June Carter. My company ledger says we pay her sixty-five hundred a month. Her bank account says twenty-two hundred. The authorization signature on the diversion routing slip belongs to you."
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The room went dead silent. The only sound was the distant hum of the building's climate control system. Marcus didn't panic. That was his gift. He simply set his tablet down, folded his hands over his desk, and let out a long, measured sigh of disappointment.
"Julian," Marcus said softly, shaking his head. "I was hoping you wouldn't look into that ledger for another six months."
