Chapter 4 - The Ghost of Chicago
"Who are you?" I demanded, pushing past James and stepping out onto the threshold. The icy wind bit through my sweater, but the chill was nothing compared to the shock of the stranger's words.
The woman blinked, her gaze darting from me to James, then back again. She had short, dark hair tucked behind her ears and the tired, hyper-vigilant posture of someone who spent her life looking over her shoulder.
"My name is Sarah Miller," she said, clutching the manila envelope against her chest like a shield. "I was your brother’s junior partner at the firm in Chicago, Captain. Before... before everything happened."
James stepped forward, placing a protective hand on my shoulder, gently guiding me back inside the warmth of the foyer while keeping his eyes fixed on Sarah.
"How did you find me?" James asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"Your military records aren't as airtight as you think, especially when you have federal auditors doing a secondary sweep of corporate fallout zones," Sarah said, stepping into the entryway as James closed and locked the door behind her. "Marcus Vance didn't stay in London. Six months ago, he came back under an alias. And last week, he made contact with your father-in-law."
The room seemed to spin. I grabbed the console table for support. "My dad? My dad has been in contact with Marcus Vance?"
Sarah looked at me with a mix of pity and disbelief. "You didn't know? Why do you think your family protected Lauren so fiercely? It wasn't just because she’s their daughter. It’s because Marcus was laundering money through your father’s real estate trust. Your father’s entire fortune—every penny of that estate—is tied directly to the accounts Marcus drained from our firm."
I stared at her, my mind refusing to process the scale of the deception. My father—the pillar of the community, the stern moral compass who judged everyone around him—was a financial accomplice to the man who drove an innocent young accountant to suicide.
"That's impossible," I whispered. "My dad is a retired judge. He lectures on ethics."
"Your dad is a criminal in an expensive suit," Sarah corrected flatly. She held out the manila envelope toward James. "Open it. It contains bank transfers, encrypted emails between Marcus and your father from three weeks ago, and a flight manifest showing Marcus landed in this city two days before Christmas."
James didn't take the envelope immediately. He looked down at it, then looked at me. The anger I had felt earlier dissolved into a sickening dread.
"Two days before Christmas," I repeated, the date clicking into place in my head like a trap snapping shut. "That... that was the day before you guys came to dinner. That's why my parents were so on edge. That's why Lauren was late—she was meeting him."
"She wasn't just meeting him," Sarah said grimly. "She’s been helping him liquidate the final assets. They're planning to leave the country again by New Year's Eve. And they needed a clean break from anyone who could tie them to the original scandal."
James finally took the envelope. He pulled back the metal clasp, slid out a sheaf of papers, and scanned the top page. His jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth would crack.
"Where is he?" James asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Downtown," Sarah said. "At the Grand Hotel under a corporate pseudonym. But Captain... you shouldn't go after him alone. He has federal protection through a crooked asset-recovery task force your father bought off."
James looked down at the papers, then folded them slowly and slipped them into his jacket pocket. He turned to me, his eyes dark, fierce, and entirely unreadable.
"Clara, pack a bag," he said.
"What?" I gasped. "James, no. We can't just run—"
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"We aren't running," James interrupted, his voice cutting through my panic with absolute authority. "We're going to end this tonight. Once and for all."
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