Chapter 9 - The Art of the Trap
The Grand Chicago Art Museum looked like a palace of glass and light against the freezing autumn night. Floodlights swept across the limestone facade, while sleek black limousines discharged glittering streams of politicians, executives, and high-society elites in designer gowns and tailored tuxedos.
Inside the vaulted marble rotunda, a string quartet played softly beneath a towering crystal chandelier.
I adjusted the strap of my emerald-green silk evening gown, checking the miniature encrypted transmitter hidden inside my diamond-cluster drop earring. Across the room, Damian stood near a pillar, looking impossibly sharp in a custom black tuxedo, casually sipping sparkling water while his eyes scanned every security camera and exit point in the room.
“Perimeter secure,” Damian’s voice crackled softly through my earpiece. “Four private guards by the east gallery. Two plainclothes operatives by the main service elevators.”
“Copy that,” I whispered back, smoothly navigating the crowd with a glass of champagne in hand. “I’m approaching Julian now.”
Julian Vance stood near a massive abstract painting valued at four million dollars, laughing heartily as a city councilman praised his philanthropic foundation. Julian was tall, silver-haired, with cold blue eyes that missed nothing.
I glided into their circle with a disarming smile.
“Pardon me, Mr. Vance,” I said, pitching my voice to be sweet and melodic.
Julian turned, blinking in surprise as he took in my appearance. “Ah. And you are?”
“Elise,” I said smoothly, using my old undercover alias with deliberate intent. “Or perhaps... Evelyn, depending on which side of the ledger you’re reading from.”
Julian’s smile froze instantly. The color drained slightly from his tanned face.
“I don't know what game you’re playing, young lady, but—”
“It’s not a game, Julian,” I interrupted, my voice dropping all pretense of warmth as I stepped closer, blocking him from the councilman’s view. “It’s an audit. The Council’s wire transfers to the Pier 42 mercenaries have been decrypted. Every dollar, every shell account, every signature.”
Julian’s eyes darted toward the exit, his hand twitching toward his inner suit pocket where a concealed holster sat.
“You’re making a grave mistake,” Julian hissed under his breath.
“The only mistake was thinking you could touch my daughter and walk away,” a deep, gravelly voice murmured right behind Julian’s shoulder.
Julian spun around—and found Damian Voss standing inches away, his dark eyes burning with cold fury.
May you like
Before Julian could shout for his guards, Damian grabbed him by the lapels with terrifying speed, effortlessly lifting him off his feet and dragging him backward into the dimly lit service hallway behind the gallery doors.
I slipped in right behind them, sliding the heavy steel service door shut and clicking the electronic deadbolt into place.
