Chapter 4 - The Hunt Begins
By midnight, the storm had engulfed Chicago. Rain lashed against the glass of Vincent’s high-rise office in the Moretti Tower, overlooking the dark, churning expanse of Lake Michigan.
The room was filled with five men: Dominic, two senior intelligence specialists who usually ran corporate counter-espionage for Vincent’s shipping empire, his primary fixer, and Arthur Vance—Claire’s estranged uncle, who had spent the last two hours sweating through his cheap collar.
"I swear to you, Vincent, I haven't spoken to her in six months!" Arthur pleaded, his hands trembling as he clutched a glass of water. "Claire doesn't talk to our side of the family. You know that! Ever since her mother died, she kept her distance."
Vincent sat behind his desk, his hand wrapped in a white bandage where the glass had sliced into his palm. His face was pale, his eyes rimmed with red, shadows carving deep hollows beneath his cheekbones. He hadn't slept in thirty-six hours.
"Arthur," Vincent said softly. The quietness of his tone was far more terrifying than screaming. "If I find out you helped her disappear, or that you received a wire transfer from an offshore account, I will take everything you own. Then I will take your freedom. Am I making myself clear?"
"Crystal, Vincent! Crystal! I know nothing!" Arthur stammered, nodding frantically.
Vincent waved his hand dismissively. Dominic stepped forward, grabbed Arthur by the back of his coat, and shoved him out the double doors.
Vincent turned his gaze toward the lead tech specialist, a man named Miller. "Tell me you have something."
Miller swallowed hard, adjusting his glasses. "Boss, she planned this with military precision. She drove the Range Rover to O'Hare Long-Term Parking Lot G at 11:15 AM. She entered the terminal through Door 3, walked through the baggage claim area, and exited through Door 1 on the lower level. No luggage checked. No flight booked under any name."
"Security footage?" Vincent demanded.
"She knew the blind spots," Miller replied, his voice nervous. "She wore a nondescript beige trench coat, a wide-brimmed hat, and dark sunglasses. She bypassed the main security cameras by taking the employee corridor stairs down to the commercial bus depot."
"Did she take a bus?"
"No, sir. At 11:42 AM, a silver sedan—a 2018 Honda Civic with stolen plates—pulled into the shuttle lane. She got into the passenger seat. The car took the I-90 ramp heading northwest. Three miles down the highway, the plates were switched, or the car vanished into traffic. We lost the trail."
Vincent stood up, knocking his leather chair backward. "She didn't do this alone. A thirty-year-old woman who spent the last seven years attending charity galas and organizing dinner parties doesn't know how to evade federal-grade surveillance networks!"
"She had help, Mr. Moretti," a voice spoke from the corner.
It was Evelyn Park’s name that appeared on the tablet screen Miller held up.
"Evelyn Park," Miller continued. "Senior partner at Park & Sterling. She specializes in ultra-high-net-worth divorces, particularly for spouses of high-profile political figures and cartel associates. She’s notoriously ruthless, completely clean legally, and has ironclad connections to federal judges."
Vincent’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure obsidian. "Bring her in."
Dominic stepped forward cautiously. "Vincent... Park isn't a street hustler or a corrupt alderman. She’s on the board of the American Bar Association. Her brother is a sitting federal prosecutor in the Northern District of Illinois. If we touch her, or even lean on her too hard, the Department of Justice will have fifty agents executing search warrants on your shipping docks before sunrise."
"I don't give a damn about the docks!" Vincent snarled, slamming his fist onto the mahogany desk. "My wife is gone, Dominic! She’s out there in the cold, alone, terrified—"
He stopped abruptly, the words catching in his throat.
*Terrified.*
Was she terrified?
He remembered her face as she looked at him that morning. There had been no fear. Not a flicker. The fear had belonged to him, even if he hadn't recognized it at the time. She had looked at him with pity.
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"Call Park’s office," Vincent said, forcing his voice down into a grating whisper. "Set up a meeting for eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Tell her that if she refuses, I won't threaten her. I’ll simply buy the entire office building her firm operates out of and evict every tenant on the lease by noon."
***
