Chapter 6 - THE CEDAR GROVE FACILITY
The Cedar Grove Senior Living facility sat on a quiet bluff overlooking the Chicago River, its brick facade covered in thick, dying ivy that rattled in the autumn wind.
Silas’s town car—retrieved from the precinct impound by one of Reed’s loyal operatives—tires crunched loudly on the gravel drive as it pulled up to the front entrance without its headlights on.
In the loading bay near the back kitchen, a white transit van with no company logos was idling, its rear doors wide open. Two men in dark jackets were wheeling a hospital bed down the ramp, a frail figure wrapped in gray blankets strapped tightly to the mattress.
"That's her," Lena gasped, her hand flying to the door handle before the car had even come to a complete stop.
"Wait," Silas commanded, grabbing her arm. "Look at the driver."
Through the windshield, standing by the rear doors of the van, was Wade Carver—the same accountant who had tried to slip the poisoned wine at the dinner party. He was holding a clipboard, checking off names with a small silver pen.
"Wade is running the transfer," Lena hissed, her voice shaking with rage. "They're taking her to one of Everett's off-grid warehouses."
Silas shifted the car into park, his eyes narrowing. "Stay in the car, Lena. If I don't come back out in five minutes, use the encrypted phone in the glove box to call Reed."
"I'm not staying in the car," Lena said, already pushing her door open. "That's my mother."
Before Silas could argue, she slipped out into the cold drizzle. Silas cursed softly under his breath and followed her into the shadows of the loading dock.
The rain masked the sound of their footsteps as they crept along the brick wall of the facility. Up on the ramp, Wade was arguing with one of the orderlies.
"I told you, put her in the secondary compartment," Wade snapped, his voice carrying clearly over the hum of the van's diesel engine. "Mr. Veil wants her moved before the federal marshals finish checking the downtown office."
"She's eighty years old, Mr. Carver," the orderly protested nervously. "She's not going to survive a transfer to an unheated facility."
"She'll survive as long as Everett needs leverage against the girl," Wade retorted, reaching for the back doors to slam them shut.
"Step away from the bed, Wade," a voice cut through the dark like broken glass.
Wade froze. He turned slowly around, his eyes widening in horror as Silas stepped out from beneath the concrete overhang, his dark coat soaked with rain, his expression completely blank.
"Silas..." Wade swallowed hard, his hand dropping from the latch. "You're supposed to be in holding downtown—"
"Plans changed," Silas said, closing the distance between them with terrifying speed.
Wade panicked, lunging toward the open door of the van to grab a heavy metal wrench from the toolbox. But Lena was faster. She sprinted up the metal steps of the ramp, grabbed a heavy plastic folding chair left by the staff, and brought it down across Wade's back with a loud, satisfying crack.
Wade went down hard against the gravel, the wind knocked completely out of him.
Silas reached the bed first, undoing the security straps with practiced efficiency. Beneath the gray wool blankets, Mrs. Mercer blinked sleepily, her silver hair loose around her shoulders, looking up with mild confusion.
"Lena?" she whispered, her voice thin and raspy. "Is it time for breakfast, sweetheart?"
"It's time to go home, Mom," Lena choked out, kneeling beside the bed and burying her face in the old woman's blanket.
Silas stood guard over them, his eyes fixed on Wade, who was groaning in the dirt. He reached into Wade's coat pocket, pulled out a heavy brass key ring, and held it up to the light.
May you like
On the ring was a single, distinct key stamped with the logo of the South Dock private vault.
"Well, well, Wade," Silas murmured, tossing the key from hand to hand. "It seems you had your own insurance policy tucked away."
