Chapter 6 - The Two-Hour War
The faint, rhythmic tick of my wristwatch felt like a hammer striking an anvil in the absolute blackness of the cellar. Two hours. That was all Inez had requested to wake up a federal judge in Chicago, route the Meridian Trust file to the FBI's white-collar division, and secure a warrant before Derek could execute the final municipal handover at sunrise. Two hours of holding our breath in a concrete tomb while upstairs, the people who had stolen my parents' life drank our liquor and laughed over our ruin.
"He's pacing," Manuel whispered suddenly, his ear pressed against the upper corner of the heavy wooden hatch where a hairline fracture let in a sliver of faint yellow light from the backyard floodlamps.
"Who, Derek?" I asked, keeping my voice low as I shone my phone's dying flashlight beam across the rows of uncashed checks on the oak table.
"No," Dad murmured, his breath hitching slightly. "That's not Derek's stride. That's Veronica's father, old man Gallo. He just arrived. I heard the Mercedes door slam out by the drive. If Gallo is here at three in the morning, the handover isn't just a local real estate scam. It's a money-laundering clearinghouse for the whole county."
The weight of the situation dropped onto my chest like a physical blow. Gallo wasn't just a small-time local crony; he was a notorious regional financier with deep ties to offshore accounts and syndicate figures across the state line. If Derek had partnered with Gallo to siphon the three-million-dollar developer buyout, then the trap we had fallen into was far larger, and infinitely more dangerous, than a simple family betrayal.
Outside the heavy door, a sudden series of heavy thuds rattled the frame. Someone was kicking the base of the cellar hatch.
"Hey! Anyone down there making noise?" a gruff voice shouted from above. It wasn't Derek. It sounded like one of Gallo’s private enforcers—a heavy-set brute with no patience for games.
Manuel and I froze instantly, not even breathing. I tightened my grip on the heavy wrench I had pulled from a toolbox, my knuckles white.
"Thought I heard something scraping against the wood," the voice grumbled, followed by the metallic clink of a flashlight barrel tapping against the exterior iron bolt. "Must be rats in the foundation. Come on, let's grab another round before the sun comes up."
The footsteps faded away into the wet grass, leaving behind a silence so thick it roared in my ears.
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I looked at my watch. One hour and twelve minutes left until dawn. One hour and twelve minutes until Inez could drop the federal hammer.
Suddenly, the satellite phone in my hand vibrated softly against my palm. The screen lit up with a text from Inez: Judge just signed. Warrant is active. Federal agents are rolling out of Chicago right now. Hold your ground—they are twenty minutes away.
