Chapter 10 - The Siege of South Chicago
"Federal warrant! Nobody move!"
The smoke cleared to reveal a dozen heavily armed tactical officers in black riot gear pouring into the server room, their assault rifles raised, led by a man in a crisp white commander’s uniform who looked like he had stepped straight out of a political campaign poster.
It wasn't local police. It was Commander Marcus Vance of the Federal Task Force on Municipal Corruption—the very man who had tried to intimidate my father’s legacy weeks ago.
"Genevieve Hayes!" Commander Vance shouted over the hum of the cooling towers, stepping forward with his service weapon drawn, his eyes wide with frantic rage as he looked at the open computer monitors broadcasting the leaked files across the city. "Step away from the console! You are under arrest for cyber terrorism, corporate espionage, and theft of federal assets!"
I stood up slowly from the chair, pulling the heavy wool blanket tighter around my shoulders, my wedding dress stained and ruined, but my posture absolute and unbroken.
"You're a little late, Commander," I said, my voice carrying clearly across the room. "The files are already mirrored on three hundred independent servers across Europe. Even if you shoot me right now, the entire world knows that Judge Witmore is a murderer."
Vance’s face contorted into an ugly, desperate snarl. He raised his pistol, aiming directly at my chest. "End of the line, bitch."
Before his finger could tighten on the trigger, a heavy, deafening roar drowned out the hum of the servers.
A massive, armored industrial transport vehicle—bearing the heavy steel plating of the Blackwood Syndicate—crashed straight through the reinforced brick exterior wall of the warehouse, its twin headlights cutting through the smoke like the eyes of a mechanical beast.
Before the tactical officers could recover from the shock, the armored vehicle’s side doors slid open, and a dozen syndicate operatives poured out, their weapons locked and loaded, forming an impenetrable perimeter around the console.
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Lawrence Blackwood stepped out from behind the armored shield, his trench coat billowing slightly in the draft, his cold amber eyes fixed squarely on Commander Vance.
"In my city, Commander," Lawrence said, his voice dropping into a lethal, glacial whisper, "you don't point a weapon at my guest unless you're prepared to answer to me."
