Chapter 6 - Thirty-Seven Minutes
We had thirty-seven minutes.
Rachel connected Adrian’s phone to an isolated workstation inside a Navy Pier security office.
Police surrounded us.
Elena worked beside her.
Matteo was on his way to surgery.
Every part of me wanted to go with him.
Instead, I stared at the countdown.
Thirty-four minutes.
Priya stood behind me.
“Can they stop it?”
Rachel didn’t answer.
That meant no.
Elena opened the outgoing package.
“It isn’t just the archive.”
“What else?”
“Adrian added the ledger.”
Alvarez frowned.
“So releasing it exposes him too.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I understood.
“Because he thinks he can control the story.”
Elena looked at me.
“Exactly.”
Adrian didn’t need everyone to believe he was innocent.
He needed everyone to believe nobody was innocent.
If Kane Forensic’s protected records appeared beside proof of corruption, the public would see one enormous contaminated institution.
Victims.
Witnesses.
Investigators.
Politicians.
Criminals.
All mixed together.
Truth would become so chaotic nobody could separate it from accusation.
That was Adrian’s real skill.
Not hiding facts.
Destroying trust.
Twenty-nine minutes.
“Can we remove protected identities?” I asked.
“Not before transmission,” Rachel said.
“Can we change where it sends?”
“No.”
“Can we corrupt the package?”
Elena looked up.
“Maybe.”
Rachel shook her head.
“If the scheduler verifies file integrity, corruption triggers the backup.”
“What backup?”
“Unknown.”
Of course.
Adrian had designed redundant systems for years.
He knew exactly how Rachel would think.
So we needed to think differently.
I looked at the email list.
Newsrooms.
Federal agencies.
Independent journalists.
And one strange address.
ARCHER.RECOVERY@—
“Stop.”
Rachel looked at me.
“What?”
“That address.”
Elena leaned closer.
Her face changed.
“I created that mailbox.”
“Why would Adrian send the archive to you?”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Then it’s not a recipient.”
Rachel understood.
“It’s the authentication endpoint.”
The outgoing message checked Elena’s old mailbox before sending.
Why?
I opened the original corrupted JPEG.
Truth leaves patterns.
Elena had taught the system to verify using something only she possessed.
Maybe Adrian had copied the process without fully understanding it.
“What happens if Elena’s mailbox rejects authentication?”
Rachel began typing.
“Potentially cancels transmission.”
“Potentially?”
“Or sends immediately.”
Priya whispered, “I dislike those options.”
Twenty-two minutes.
Elena stared at the screen.
“I can access the mailbox.”
“Do it.”
She logged in.
Hundreds of unread messages.
Most automated.
One recent.
From Adrian.
Subject:
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED DEAD.
Elena opened it.
Inside was one line.
You taught me redundancy.
Rachel swore.
“He expected this.”
Then another window appeared.
A secondary timer.
If Elena modified the authentication mailbox, the package would send instantly.
We were trapped.
Again.
Fifteen minutes.
Alvarez received a call.
“Adrian’s boat was found near Monroe Harbor.”
“Empty?”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t surprised.
He had another exit planned.
Then my phone rang.
Hospital.
I answered.
A nurse told me Matteo was stable.
The bullet had passed through the upper shoulder without striking an artery.
Relief hit so hard I had to sit.
Priya squeezed my hand.
Then the nurse said Matteo was awake and asking for me.
“I can’t leave.”
Rachel turned.
“Take it.”
“What?”
“We’re trying every option. You can’t help us by staring.”
I almost argued.
Then I realized Matteo might know Adrian better than anyone.
“Put him on.”
A pause.
Then Matteo’s voice.
Weak.
Annoyed.
“Maggie.”
“You got shot.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“This is not funny.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
“How are you?”
“Angry.”
“Good. Stay angry.”
“What’s the timer?”
I looked.
Eleven minutes.
I explained everything.
He listened.
Then said, “Adrian hates unfinished stories.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“When we started the company, he used to say a failed investigation was worse than losing money because it left someone else controlling the ending.”
I looked at the scheduled message.
“He wants us to choose his ending.”
“Yes.”
“So we don’t.”
“How?”
I stared at the recipient list.
Journalists.
Federal agencies.
Archive.
Ledger.
Truth mixed with protected lies.
Then I understood.
“We release our own version first.”
Rachel looked at me.
“What?”
“Publish the verified ledger now.”
Alvarez stepped closer.
“Without witness identities.”
“Yes.”
“We don’t have time to redact everything.”
“We don’t need everything.”
I pointed toward the master financial ledger.
“Release only transactions already independently verifiable through public records.”
Rachel’s eyes widened.
“Property deeds. City contracts. Court filings.”
“Exactly.”
Elena added, “And the Wallace recordings.”
“If Wallace consents.”
Alvarez called him.
He consented immediately.
Seven minutes.
Rachel’s fingers flew.
We assembled a clean evidence package.
No witness identities.
No private client files.
Only documented financial transfers, public records, authenticated audio, and a written explanation stating that a criminal actor was threatening to release manipulated confidential material.
Then Matteo said through the phone:
“Put my name on it.”
I hesitated.
“What?”
“Kane Forensic takes responsibility for the breach.”
“Matteo, Adrian did this.”
“He did it using my company.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“It will be to the people exposed.”
There was no self-pity.
Just responsibility.
That was the moment I finally understood why everyone in the ballroom feared him.
It wasn’t because Matteo Kane had power.
It was because he accepted consequences other powerful people spent fortunes avoiding.
Three minutes.
Rachel transmitted the verified package to federal investigators, Chicago police, several major newspapers, and the mayor’s legal team.
Alvarez contacted the FBI.
Two minutes.
The first newsroom acknowledged receipt.
One minute.
Then Elena noticed something.
“Wait.”
The scheduled package size had changed.
It was shrinking.
“What does that mean?”
Rachel stared.
“Someone is deleting files remotely.”
“Adrian?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Then the timer disappeared.
The package vanished.
No transmission.
We stared.
Rachel whispered, “He canceled it.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Adrian.
“You cheated.”
I almost laughed.
“You sound disappointed.”
“You released an incomplete story.”
“We released a provable one.”
“You protected Matteo.”
“No.”
I looked toward the hospital phone still connected.
“I protected innocent people.”
Silence.
That answer mattered to him.
I could hear it.
Adrian had expected loyalty to Matteo.
Love.
Fear.
Reputation.
He had expected a personal choice.
Instead, we chose strangers.
“You don’t understand what he is,” Adrian said.
“I understand exactly what you are.”
His breathing changed.
That landed.
“Where are you?”
“You’ll find out.”
Then I heard something in the background.
A train announcement.
Faint.
But familiar.
Union Station.
I looked at Alvarez.
She understood immediately.
Police moved.
Adrian was trying to leave Chicago.
Twenty minutes later, officers surrounded Union Station.
Security cameras found him near Track 18.
He spotted police.
Ran.
Down a service corridor.
Across a loading platform.
Then disappeared into a maintenance tunnel.
Again.
Alvarez looked murderous.
But this time Adrian left something behind.
A bag.
Inside was cash.
Three passports.
A laptop.
And documents tying Dennis Rourke, Daniel Voss, Samuel Baird, and multiple developers directly to Havenridge.
More importantly, there was a reservation.
Not train.
Private aircraft.
Departure from Gary/Chicago International Airport in ninety minutes.
Police raced southeast.
I went to Northwestern.
Matteo looked ridiculous in a hospital gown.
I told him so.
He looked at my green gala dress folded inside the bag Priya had brought.
“You weren’t exactly prepared either.”
I sat beside him.
For several seconds neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “You stayed.”
“With the archive?”
“Yes.”
“You needed me.”
“No.”
That surprised him.
I smiled.
“Rachel needed me. Elena needed me. Hundreds of strangers needed somebody to make a decision.”
“And me?”
“You needed a surgeon.”
He laughed.
Then winced.
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“You started it.”
His hand rested on the blanket.
I placed mine over it.
No dare this time.
No audience.
“You scared me,” I said.
His expression changed.
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t like being scared.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“I especially dislike being scared because of men.”
“Also noticed.”
“So if we survive this…”
He waited.
I swallowed.
“You’re buying me dinner somewhere with no guns, no corrupt executives, and no charity seating chart.”
The smile came slowly.
“Is that a date?”
“It’s probation.”
“I’ll take it.”
His phone rang.
Alvarez.
Matteo answered on speaker.
“We found the plane.”
“Adrian?”
“No.”
My heart sank.
Then Alvarez continued.
“The pilot says Adrian changed plans.”
“Where?”
“He hired a car.”
“To where?”
Pause.
Then:
“Wexler Grand Hotel.”
I stared at Matteo.
The ballroom.
Seat 17.
Adrian was going back to where everything began.
But why?
Alvarez answered before we asked.
“Hollis Bennett is being transferred there for a private federal interview.”
My stomach dropped.
Adrian wasn’t returning for the hotel.
He was returning for Hollis.
The last living witness who could connect him to Evan Bennett’s death.
May you like
And while Matteo lay wounded in a hospital bed, Adrian was heading straight toward the one man who could finally destroy him.
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