Chapter 2 - The Inside Man
I ended the call and threw the burner phone against the wall, watching it shatter into jagged pieces of plastic.
My mind raced through a list of every rival boss in Chicago, trying to match the raspy voice on the phone.
I turned around to find my security chief, Michael Reed, standing in the ruined doorway of the nursery.
His eyes widened as he took in the chaotic walls covered in surveillance photos and financial documents.
"Boss, what is all this?" Michael asked, stepping carefully into the room as if it were rigged with explosives.
"Claire was investigating us, and now she is negotiating with a rival syndicate," I said, running a hand through my hair.
Michael shook his head slowly, looking genuinely confused by the sheer scale of the information on the walls.
"That is impossible, Daniel, she never left the penthouse without my security detail," he argued defensively.
I walked over to the wall and ripped down a photograph, shoving it directly into Michael’s chest.
"Then explain to me why there is a picture of you meeting with the Russian cartel three weeks ago!" I shouted.
Michael looked down at the photo of himself standing in a dark alley with a known cartel enforcer.
His face completely drained of color, and he instinctively reached for the weapon holstered at his hip.
I was faster, drawing my own gun and pressing the cold steel barrel directly against his forehead.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put a bullet through your skull right now," I whispered fiercely.
Michael slowly raised his hands, keeping his eyes locked onto mine as a bead of sweat rolled down his neck.
"Because I wasn't selling you out to the Russians, Daniel," he pleaded, his voice trembling slightly.
"Then what the hell were you doing in that alley?" I demanded, pressing the gun harder against his skin.
"I was paying them off to ignore the shipment of weapons you ordered last month," he explained rapidly.
I frowned, lowering the weapon a fraction of an inch as confusion replaced my initial blinding rage.
"I never ordered any weapons last month," I stated, my heart pounding loudly in my ears.
Michael slowly reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper bearing my forged signature.
"Someone used your personal authorization codes to purchase heavy artillery, and I have been trying to cover it up," he said.
I took the paper, instantly recognizing the intricate, undeniable forgery of my handwriting.
Only one other person in my entire organization had the access and the skill to fake my signature perfectly.
My trusted lawyer and mentor, Elias Thorne, was the only man capable of pulling this off.
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Before I could process this betrayal, the shattered burner phone on the floor suddenly emitted a sharp, electronic chirp.
The screen flickered to life one last time, displaying a live video feed of Elias pointing a gun at Claire’s pregnant stomach.
