Chapter 3 - The Ambush at the Penthouse
At seven o’clock on Sunday morning, the rain had turned into a bitter Chicago sleet that rattled against the glass.
I arrived at the Gold Coast penthouse Daniel and I had shared for the last eight months. It was a high-ceilinged, limestone-trimmed duplex on Lake Shore Drive, leased under Whitmore Enterprises—a detail I had thought romantic when Daniel insisted on providing the roof over our heads. Now I knew it was merely another facade paid for with borrowed money.
I didn’t go alone.
Behind me stood Marcus King, the head of private security for Grant Property Group, accompanied by two of his firmest men, and Ryan. Marcus carried a certified inventory clip-board and two empty commercial-grade packing crates.
I used my key to open the heavy mahogany front door.
The penthouse smelled of stale whiskey and expensive tobacco. Daniel was sitting on the sectional sofa in the double-height living room, still wearing his tuxedo trousers and a crumpled white dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair disheveled. On the marble coffee table sat an empty bottle of Macallan and three phones.
Barbara sat in the high-backed armchair opposite him, perfectly coiffed, wearing a charcoal wool suit and pearl earrings. She looked as though she hadn't slept a wink, but her posture was as rigid as a blade.
When the door clicked shut, Daniel sprang to his feet.
“Liv!” He stumbled slightly against the table, sending an empty glass rolling across the carpet. “Thank God. You came home. Look, I’m so sorry about last night. My mother—she was clumsy with her words, she didn't mean to present it like an ultimatum—”
“Clumsy?” I stopped six feet away from him. Marcus and the two security guards took up positions near the entryway, their arms crossed, silent and immovable.
Barbara didn't stand up. She sipped from a porcelain teacup, her gaze flicking dismissively over my security team. “You brought hired thugs to your own home, Olivia? How profoundly low-class.”
“This isn’t my home, Barbara,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “This penthouse is leased by a shell corporation registered in Delaware that hasn't paid its building maintenance dues in three months. I checked the building registry at six this morning.”
Barbara’s cup clinked against the saucer. A tiny, imperceptible tremor ran through her hand.
“Liv, please,” Daniel pleaded, reaching for my arm.
Marcus stepped forward instantly, his six-foot-two frame casting a long shadow over Daniel. Daniel flinched, stepping back with his hands raised.
“Don’t touch me, Daniel,” I said. “Ever again.”
“You’re throwing away our marriage over a legal technicality?” Daniel’s voice cracked with raw desperation. “We love each other! We built a life here! So what if my family needs liquidity? You have more than enough! Your father left you commercial real estate that just sits there, printing cash! We could have used that equity to finish River North, and within eighteen months, we’d both be worth fifty million dollars! Why are you being so selfish?”
*Selfish.*
The audacity of the word took my breath away for half a second before burning into pure fury.
“My father died of a massive coronary in a trailer on a job site while making sure his subcontractors got their health insurance paid,” I said, taking one measured step toward him. “He didn't take vacations. He didn't belong to the Lake Forest Country Club. He built Grant Property Group brick by brick, board by board. And you thought you could slide a fake signature onto an eighteen-million-dollar deed while I was walking down an aisle in a white veil?”
Daniel went dead silent. His eyes widened in sheer panic.
“You... you know about Elk Grove?” he stammered.
“We know about Elk Grove, we know about the default notice from Midwest Continental, and we know about the six million dollars in unpaid state taxes Barbara has been hiding behind her dead husband's trust,” Ryan said from the doorway, holding up a folder.
Barbara set her teacup down with deliberate force. “You listen to me, Olivia. You think you’re being clever. You think you can embarrass this family in front of our peers and walk away clean. But you don't understand how this city works. The judges in Cook County went to school with my late husband. The state attorney is a family friend. If you refuse to sign the consolidation agreement, we will tie your father's company up in probate litigation and partnership claims that will bleed you dry within two years.”
She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing into cold slits.
“You will spend every dollar you have on legal fees just to keep your lights on,” Barbara hissed. “You will sign the Elk Grove lien today, or I will personally ensure that every municipal permit Grant Property Group has pending in Chicago is denied indefinitely.”
It was an open threat of extortion. Raw, naked, and arrogant.
I pulled my phone from my coat pocket and turned the screen toward her.
The little red recording dot was blinking. The screen displayed an active audio file that was streaming directly to an encrypted cloud server.
“Thank you, Barbara,” I said calmly. “That’s second-degree felony extortion and conspiracy to commit municipal fraud. My attorney, Arthur Vance, is already listening to the feed.”
The color completely drained from Barbara’s face. She rose from the chair so fast her pearls swung violently. “You... you treacherous little—”
“Pack my things,” I told Marcus and his men, ignoring her completely. “Bedroom, walk-in closet, study. Anything with my initials or purchased before November first goes into the truck. We have twenty minutes.”
Daniel grabbed his hair with both hands, dropping back onto the sofa. “Liv! Don’t do this! If the bank finds out Arthur Vance is involved, they’ll call the loan immediately! They’ll take the family home in Lake Forest! They’ll take everything!”
I looked down at the man I had promised to honor and cherish less than twenty-four hours ago.
May you like
“You should have thought about that before your mother picked up the microphone,” I said.
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