Chapter 31 - The Ambush
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That evening, I worked late at my home office. It was nearly eleven o'clock when I finally packed my laptop into my leather shoulder bag and turned off the overhead lights. The moon cast long, silvery shadows across the bright white walls of my office.
As I stepped out onto my private back patio toward my secured garage, a sudden shadow detached itself from the side of the brick wall.
A man stepped into the ambient light of the security lamp. He was wearing a dark hoodie, his face obscured, but I immediately recognized the heavy posture and the brass knuckles glinting on his right hand. It was the same fixer Julian Vance had used for years to quiet union organizers.
"Ms. Rowan," the man grunted, stepping between me and the garage door.
"Mr. Vance sends his regards. He thinks it’s time you took a very long vacation."
My heart hammered against my ribs, but my mind remained crystal clear. I didn't scream. I didn't drop my bag. I reached into my coat pocket and pressed the silent panic button connected directly to Frank's monitoring station and the local police precinct.
"You're standing on private property," I said, keeping my voice utterly level.
"And you have exactly five seconds before two armed security officers walk around that corner."
The fixer sneered, taking a aggressive step forward.
"You think a piece of paper is gonna save you, little lady?"
"No," a voice boomed from the shadows behind him. "I am."
Frank Miller stepped out from the darkness, his service weapon drawn and held in a low, ready stance. At the same time, bright floodlights illuminated the entire courtyard, bathing the fixer in blinding white light.
The man froze, dropping his hands to his sides as the distant sound of police sirens began to wail through the Chicago streets.
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I stood tall in the floodlights, looking at the trapped fixer with calm disdain.
"Tell Julian Vance," I said quietly, "that his time is officially up."
