Chapter 2 - The Chauffeur Who Wasn't Supposed to Survive
Roman remained unconscious until they reached his estate.
At least, that was what everyone believed.
Grant sat beside him for the entire drive.
Roman felt the man's eyes on him repeatedly.
Twenty years.
That thought kept returning.
Grant Mercer had been there when Roman's father died.
He had taught Roman how to shoot.
He had carried Rachel's coffin.
He had held Roman's daughter Sophia when she cried at the funeral.
And now Roman had heard him order Marty's death.
When the sedan stopped beneath the covered entrance, Grant touched Roman's shoulder.
“Boss?”
Roman allowed his eyelids to flutter.
“Grant?”
Relief appeared on Grant's face.
Too perfect.
“You passed out again.”
Roman forced confusion into his expression.
“Where's Marty?”
“Handling the car.”
Roman stared at him.
Grant smiled.
“Don't worry about anything.”
Roman had never realized how frightening those words could sound.
Two men helped him inside.
He refused a doctor.
That was normal enough that nobody questioned it.
When he finally reached his bedroom, Roman locked the door.
Then he stood completely still.
The bedroom.
One of the places Marty had identified.
Roman slowly examined the vents.
Nothing obvious.
He opened the bedside table and removed an old prepaid phone that almost nobody knew existed.
There was only one number he could call.
Marty answered immediately.
“You alive?”
Roman almost laughed.
“You're asking me?”
“I've had better nights.”
“Where are you?”
“Not where Grant's men expected.”
Roman moved toward the window.
“You knew they were coming.”
“I suspected.”
“You let me get taken.”
“If I'd tried to pull you out of there, we'd both be dead.”
Roman hated that the man was right.
“Tell me everything.”
“Not on a phone.”
“This phone is clean.”
“So was your car.”
Roman looked toward the air vent.
Point taken.
Marty gave him an address.
“Tomorrow. Ten in the morning. Come alone.”
Roman's voice hardened.
“I don't come alone.”
“Then stay home and keep breathing whatever they're feeding you.”
The call ended.
Roman stared at the phone.
Nobody hung up on him.
Apparently chauffeurs did.
The next morning, Roman performed the most dangerous act of his career.
He left his own house without his security detail.
He used an old pickup stored on another property and drove to a shuttered auto repair shop on the South Side.
Marty was waiting inside.
So was a woman Roman had never seen.
She was perhaps thirty-five, with dark hair tied back and tired eyes behind thin glasses.
Roman's hand moved toward his jacket.
Marty raised both palms.
“This is Dr. Evelyn Shaw.”
Roman looked at her.
“What kind of doctor?”
“Toxicology.”
Roman's eyes returned to Marty.
Evelyn placed a folder on a workbench.
“My father worked for a pharmaceutical research contractor called Halcyon Biomedical.”
Roman knew the name.
Everybody did.
Halcyon produced specialized medications and medical compounds.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Evelyn opened the folder.
Inside were photographs.
Laboratory reports.
And a picture of a man who looked enough like Marty that Roman immediately understood.
“My brother,” Marty said.
“Daniel Cole.”
Daniel had been thinner than Marty, younger, and smiling in the photograph.
“He worked in environmental systems,” Marty continued. “Ventilation, filtration, controlled-delivery equipment.”
Roman looked toward him.
“Like the mechanism in my car.”
“Exactly.”
Evelyn slid another document across the table.
“Three years ago, Daniel discovered Halcyon was testing a compound designed to create temporary neurological shutdown.”
Roman read the technical language.
He understood very little.
“What purpose?”
“Originally?” Evelyn said. “Medical sedation.”
“And later?”
Her expression darkened.
“Someone realized a substance that could mimic unexplained neurological illness had other uses.”
Roman thought of Rachel.
“Could it kill?”
“With prolonged exposure.”
His jaw tightened.
“Could it cause a brain hemorrhage?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“Yes.”
The garage became silent.
Roman looked at Marty.
“You said your brother died.”
“Car accident.”
Roman understood immediately.
“You don't believe that.”
“I saw his brake lines.”
Marty walked toward an old desk.
“He called me the night before he died. Said he'd found evidence someone had purchased a modified version of Halcyon's compound.”
“Who?”
“He didn't know.”
Marty opened a drawer.
“He only gave me one name.”
Roman waited.
Marty turned.
“Calder.”
Roman's hand moved instantly toward his gun.
Marty didn't flinch.
“You think I killed your brother?”
“I did.”
“Then why work for me?”
“To get close enough to find out.”
Roman stared at him.
“And?”
“I learned you were a victim too.”
Marty handed him another photograph.
Rachel.
Roman's throat tightened.
She was leaving a medical building.
The timestamp was six days before her death.
Roman stared at the image.
“Where did you get this?”
“Daniel's files.”
“Why was he watching my wife?”
“He wasn't.”
Marty pointed toward the man walking behind Rachel.
Roman's blood turned cold.
Grant Mercer.
Roman studied the photograph.
Grant was following her.
Evelyn spoke quietly.
“Rachel may have discovered something.”
Roman remembered the final weeks of his marriage.
Rachel had seemed distracted.
She had asked strange questions about the organization.
Who approved security contractors?
Who maintained the cars?
Who had access to Roman's office?
He had teased her.
Called her paranoid.
Then she died.
Roman closed his eyes.
“What did she discover?”
“We don't know,” Marty said.
“Then find out.”
“We're trying.”
Roman slammed his hand onto the table.
“My wife has been dead three years. Somebody has been poisoning me for three years. Don't tell me you're trying.”
Marty didn't react.
Instead, he removed a small envelope.
“This was hidden inside Daniel's apartment.”
Roman opened it.
Inside was a flash drive.
Evelyn plugged it into an isolated laptop.
Most of the files were corrupted.
One survived.
An audio recording.
Daniel's frightened voice filled the garage.
“If anyone finds this, Halcyon isn't running the operation. They're supplying someone. The Calder family is only one target.”
Roman glanced at Marty.
Daniel continued.
“I traced the payments. They pass through six shell companies, but the authorization comes from Chicago.”
Static.
Then:
“Rachel Calder knows. She contacted me.”
Roman stepped toward the laptop.
Rachel had known Daniel.
Daniel's voice continued.
“She says Roman can't be told yet. She doesn't know who around him is compromised.”
Roman's chest tightened.
Then came the final sentence.
“If something happens to Rachel, the answer is in Sophia's trust.”
The recording ended.
Roman went completely still.
Sophia.
His daughter.
Marty looked confused.
“What trust?”
Roman barely heard him.
Rachel had established a financial trust for Sophia shortly before dying.
Roman had never questioned it.
His lawyers handled everything.
“Who manages it?” Evelyn asked.
Roman slowly lifted his eyes.
For the first time that morning, genuine fear appeared on his face.
“Grant.”
That afternoon Roman returned home.
He found Grant waiting in his office.
“Where were you?”
Roman removed his coat.
“Since when do you ask?”
Grant smiled.
“Since you started collapsing.”
Roman poured himself a drink but didn't touch it.
“Maybe I needed air.”
Grant watched him.
Roman suddenly understood something.
The drinks.
The rooms.
The car.
Everything around him had become suspect.
Then Grant spoke.
“Sophia called.”
Roman's eyes lifted.
His daughter was twenty-one and studying in Boston.
“What did she want?”
“She said she's coming home.”
Roman's fingers tightened around the glass.
“When?”
Grant smiled.
“Tonight.”
Roman felt the first true wave of panic he had experienced in years.
Because if Rachel had hidden something inside Sophia's trust—
May you like
then Sophia had just become the most valuable person in Chicago.
And Grant Mercer already knew she was coming.
