Chapter 7 - The Federal Handshake
"Drop the weapon, Mr. Vain! Put the gun down on the ground and keep your hands where we can see them!"
The lead agent, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a federal windbreaker and a scar across his left eyebrow, stepped forward with his assault rifle leveled squarely at Cassius’s chest.
Cassius didn't drop the gun. He slowly lowered the barrel by two inches, his dark eyes shifting from the federal agent back to Victor Vance, who was already backing away toward the shadows of the warehouse interior with a cowardly, relieved smirk spreading across his face.
"You're making a mistake, Agent," Cassius said, his voice cold and steady. "The man you should be putting cuffs on is thirty feet behind me, knee-deep in ten years of federal racketeering and arson."
"We'll sort out who goes in cuffs after the guns are on the ground, Cassius," the agent replied, gesturing sharply with his weapon. "We’ve had a federal warrant out for your financial wire transfers for six months. Drop it. Now."
From inside the Lincoln Navigator, Marin watched the standoff escalate into a nightmare. Without hesitating, she slammed her shoulder against the locked passenger door, rattling the frame. "Sylvio, let me out! They're going to arrest him!"
"Miss Holloway, if you step out of this vehicle into the middle of a federal takedown, you become a hostage or a suspect," Sylvio said, his voice tight as he kept his eyes glued to the scene. "Trust him. He planned for this."
"He didn't plan for federal marshals!" Marin cried out.
Outside, Cassius let out a long, slow breath. He looked down at the matte-black Sig Sauer in his hand, then up at the ring of federal weapons pointed at his head. With a deliberate, controlled motion, he opened his fingers and let the pistol drop onto the frozen asphalt with a heavy, final thud.
The moment the gun hit the ground, four marshals swarmed him. They didn't haul him out of the wheelchair—even federal agents seemed to hesitate before manhandling the legendary figure of the Chicago underworld—but they slapped heavy steel zip-ties around his wrists, securing them behind the push handles of the chair.
As they wheeled him past the cluster of federal cars, Victor Vance was being led out of the opposite side of the warehouse in actual handcuffs, his face twisted in a mask of bitter hatred. As Victor passed Cassius, he spat on the ground.
"You think you won, Vain? The Feds take your books, your empire crumbles from the inside out!" Victor shouted over the wind.
Cassius didn't even turn his head to look at him. "My empire was built on blood, Victor. Burning it down is the best thing I've done all year."
The federal agent with the scar leaned down, unlocking the doors of the Lincoln Navigator with a master remote from his belt. The passenger door popped open, and Marin tumbled out onto the gravel before Sylvio could stop her.
She ran across the open space, ignoring the shouting marshals, until she stopped directly in front of Cassius’s wheelchair. Her chest heaved, her eyes wide with a mix of terror and fierce anger.
"Are you insane?" she whispered, her voice shaking as she looked down at the plastic ties biting into his wrists. "You could have been killed out here!"
Cassius looked up at her, the harsh wind blowing his dark hair across his forehead. Despite the zip-ties and the federal agents closing in around them, a faint, wry shadow of a smile touched the corner of his mouth.
"You worry too much, Marin," he said quietly. "A monster doesn't die so easily."
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"Mr. Vain," the federal agent intervened, stepping between them and flashing an ID badge. "Agent Miller, FBI Organized Crime Task Force. You're coming with us for questioning regarding the West Loop warehouse fire and RICO violations. And as for you, miss..." Miller turned his gaze toward Marin, his eyes narrowing. "You're coming too. As a material witness."
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