SHE TOOK HER SISTER’S PLACE ON A BLIND DATE AND LEARNED THE MAN WAITING FOR HER WAS CHICAGO’S MOST FEARED CRIME BOSS

Callum cut the SUV's headlights a quarter-mile away, rolling the heavy vehicle into the shadow of a towering stack of refrigerated containers marked with the emblem of Vanguard Logistics.

The engine died with a soft shudder. Inside the cab, the only sound was the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers and the low, steady hum of the encrypted data link glowing on Mira’s console.

"Garrett's primary command post is inside Warehouse 4," Callum said quietly, his eyes scanning the perimeter through the rain-streaked glass. "Three guards at the main rolling door. Two mobile patrols on all-terrain vehicles rotating every four minutes. No local law enforcement jurisdiction—this sector is entirely privatized."

Mira looked at the glowing schematic of the warehouse layout displayed on her dashboard screen. "If we go in through the loading bay, we trigger their primary optical sensors."

"We aren't going in through the bay," Callum said, reaching into the back seat to pull out a heavy, suppressed rifle and checking the thermal scope attachment. "We're going in through the roof ventilation nexus. It drops straight down into the primary server core."

Mira looked from the rifle to Callum. "And how do we get to the roof?"

"With you riding shotgun," he said with a faint, grim smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Can you handle a climb?"

"I've scaled the municipal records archives during a basement flood while carrying three decades of tax ledgers," Mira replied, adjusting the straps of her tactical vest. "A metal ladder should be a walk in the park."

They slipped out of the SUV into the biting chill of the midnight rain. The downpour instantly soaked their clothes, but the adrenaline pumping through Mira's veins kept the cold at bay.

Moving with disciplined, silent speed, Callum led her through the labyrinth of towering steel containers, dodging the sweep of the mobile patrol's headlights by mere seconds. They reached the side of Warehouse 4, where a rusted maintenance ladder clung to the corrugated metal siding, ascending fifty feet into the dark, rain-swept gloom above.

Callum went first, climbing with the fluid efficiency of a shadow, testing each rung before shifting his weight. Mira followed closely behind, her fingers gripping the cold iron as the wind whipped her hair across her face. Below them, the sprawling expanse of the port stretched out like a sleeping metallic beast.

They reached the roof hatch within minutes. Callum pulled a small electronic bypass tool from his tactical belt, pressed it against the digital keypad of the roof access panel, and watched the red LED flash green with a soft click.

He lifted the heavy metal hatch, sliding it aside just enough for them to drop into the dark rafters of the warehouse.

The air inside smelled of ozone, hot server racks, and spilled diesel. Below them, bathed in the blue glow of dozens of high-powered mainframe computers, a group of men stood arguing around a central mahogany conference table.

At the head of the table stood Garrett Nash.

He was slightly older than Callum, with sharp, silver-streaked hair, an immaculate tailored suit that looked entirely out of place in a shipping warehouse, and the cold, calculating eyes of a man who believed he had already won the war.

"I don't care about the girl," Garrett’s voice echoed up clearly through the rafters. "Once the board reviews the falsified embezzlement ledgers in the morning, Callum's entire operational structure collapses under federal scrutiny. We take over the freight lines by noon tomorrow."

Mira looked down from the rafters, her hand resting on the encrypted data drive tucked safely in her tactical vest.

She leaned close to Callum’s ear.