Chapter 13 - Firefight in Lincoln Park
The living room of the Lincoln Park brownstone instantly became a chaotic war zone. Wood splinters flew through the air, glass picture frames shattered against the walls, and the sharp, acrid smell of gunpowder choked our lungs.
“Fall back to the interior hallway!” Ethan yelled, firing a controlled three-round burst from his rifle that forced the remaining two mercenaries to dive behind the heavy upholstered sofas for cover.
I shoved my father down the narrow wooden steps leading to the basement, slamming the heavy iron fire door shut behind him and spinning the manual locking wheel until it clicked securely into place.
“Emily! Are you with me?” Ethan shouted over the deafening din of gunfire.
“I’m right here!” I yelled back, sliding across the hardwood floor to take cover behind a heavy mahogany bookcase.
Across the room, another mercenary kicked open the side window, shattering the glass and attempting to flank our position from the dining room. I raised my Sig Sauer, aligning the tritium sights through the haze of smoke, and fired two rapid shots. The intruder dropped his weapon, clutched his shoulder, and scrambled backward out the broken window into the alley.
Suddenly, a heavy thud echoed from the front entryway. David Sterling—the general counsel for Vanguard Holdings whom we had encountered at the rail yards—stepped through the shattered front door, flanked by two fresh security operatives carrying heavy breaching shields.
Sterling adjusted his tailored suit jacket, looking entirely unfazed by the carnage surrounding him. He held a small, encrypted satellite transmitter in his hand, tapping the screen with a gloved finger.
“Give it up, Judge Harrison!” Sterling’s voice echoed mockingly through the smoke-filled hallway. “You’re operating a kangaroo court in a residential zone without legal standing or executive protection. Surrender the civil petition and Mr. Carter, and maybe we’ll let you walk out of here with your pension intact.”
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Judge Harrison stepped out from behind a concrete pillar near the staircase, his shotgun leveled steadily at Sterling’s chest. “You’re trespassing on federal magistrate property, Mr. Sterling. And in this courtroom, I am the law.”
Sterling smiled coldly, raising his satellite transmitter. “Laws are just words on paper, Judge. And right now, my men have thermal breaching charges rigged to every structural support pillar in this basement. You can either hand over the files, or you can be buried beneath a hundred tons of Chicago brick.”
