Chapter 4 - The Key in the Pier
The wind off the Chicago River was bitter, carrying the distinct scent of diesel exhaust, damp concrete, and the freezing spray of Lake Michigan.
The unmarked black SUV slid to a halt near the maintenance access ramp beside the lower level of the Michigan Avenue bridge. The massive granite pylons rose like ancient monoliths into the night sky, their surfaces streaked with decades of soot and rain.
Claire sat in the back seat, the silver pocket watch clutched tightly in her right hand. The metal was cold against her palm, but the dent in the back casing pressed familiarly into her thumb.
Viktor killed the engine. In the rear view mirror, his heavy features were illuminated by the green glow of the dashboard instruments.
"The perimeter is clean," Viktor said, his voice low. "Vance’s security detail hasn't picked up our trail yet, but they’ve got three vehicles parked near the Navy Pier access. They know the key was pinged."
Adrian turned in his passenger seat, looking back at Claire. "Are you ready for this, Claire? Once we open that door, there’s no going back to normal. Your apartment is likely being searched right now. Your relationship with Evan is officially over. Everything you thought you knew about the last five years is about to be rewritten."
Claire looked out the window at the dark, churning water of the river below. For three years, she had lived in a cage built of eggshells, careful not to make a sound, careful not to take up too much room, careful not to provoke the man who claimed to love her.
She thought of Evan’s face when Adrian had cornered him in the Hawthorne Room—the absolute, sniveling cowardice of a man who ruled through intimidation because he had no real strength of his own.
"Normal was a prison, Mr. Vale," Claire said, her voice steady and cold. She opened the SUV door and stepped out onto the damp concrete. "Let's go find my father."
They walked down the rusted metal steps toward the lower maintenance walkway that clung to the stone foundation of the bridge. The roar of traffic overhead sounded like a distant thunderstorm, muffled by the massive steel trusses overhead.
Adrian led the way, a heavy flashlight cutting a sharp beam through the swirling river mist. Viktor brought up the rear, his hand resting inside his coat.
They stopped before a heavy iron door set flush into the granite pylon, half-hidden behind a thick tangle of wild ivy and rust-stained drainage pipes. There was no handle, only a small keyhole set deep within a bronze plate shaped like an inverted keystone.
Claire stepped forward. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but her hands were steady.
She pulled the brass key from her pocket—the one Adrian had given her from the velvet handkerchief.
"The architecture of this city was built on secrets," Adrian murmured, watching her closely. "Your father believed that the people who hold the power are only ever tenants. The ones who hold the blueprints are the landlords."
Claire inserted the key into the bronze keystone.
It slid in with a satisfying, mechanical click that echoed off the damp stone. She gripped the notched handle and turned it to the left.
There was a heavy, grinding sound from deep within the pylon—the massive internal tumblers of a lock that hadn't been turned in half a decade sliding smoothly back into place.
With a deep sigh of released pressure, the iron door swung inward, revealing a flight of concrete stairs leading down into absolute darkness, illuminated only by a faint, amber emergency light at the bottom of the well.
And then, from the shadows at the top of the ramp behind them, a familiar voice cut through the sound of the river.
"Well, well," a sharp, oily voice drawled. "I wondered where the little mouse had run off to."
Claire froze.
Stepping out from beneath the concrete overhang, holding a heavy-barreled automatic pistol with both shaking hands, was Julian Vance.
May you like
And standing right behind him, his lip split and his expensive designer suit stained with river mud, was Evan.
---
