Chapter 1 - The Burner in the Cold
The freezing Tuesday evening wind whipped through downtown Chicago, biting through Julian’s thin wool coat. He stood on the corner of State and Lake, watching the tail-lights of city traffic blur into red streaks. His bank app on his phone was still open. The balance read $42,500,000.00.
It was the exact amount agreed upon with Vanguard Holdings. But the euphoric rush of wealth was entirely absent, replaced by a cold, metallic dread pooling in his gut.
A shadow detached itself from the alley across the street.
Julian’s breath hitched. He had spent his life analyzing patterns in code, predicting malicious behavior before a firewall was breached. His brain was wired to spot anomalies. And the man walking toward him was a glaring anomaly. The stranger wore a heavy charcoal overcoat, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his eyes locked onto Julian with the dead, unblinking focus of a predator. The crowd seemed to naturally part around the man, sensing the latent violence radiating from him.
Julian took a step back.
Suddenly, a heavy vibration shuddered against his thigh. Not his primary smartphone. It was coming from the right pocket of his coat.
Frowning, Julian reached in and pulled out a cheap, plastic burner phone. He hadn't put it there. Someone must have slipped it into his pocket when he was leaving the Vanguard boardroom. It was ringing.
He answered it, pressing the cheap plastic to his ear.
"Do not go back to your apartment," a synthesized, robotic voice ordered. "The man in the charcoal coat is named Silas. He is carrying a suppressed Sig Sauer 9mm. If he gets within ten feet of you, you are dead. Turn around and get on the Blue Line train arriving in exactly thirty seconds."
Julian’s eyes darted back to the man in the charcoal coat. He was twenty feet away now, his right hand slowly sliding out of his pocket.
Julian didn't hesitate. He spun on his heel and sprinted down the subway stairs, the freezing air burning his lungs. He vaulted the turnstile, ignoring the shouts of the transit guard, and hurled himself through the closing doors of the Blue Line train just as it lurched away from the platform.
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Through the scratched glass of the train doors, Julian saw the man named Silas standing on the platform. Silas didn't look angry. He just stared at Julian, raised his phone to his ear, and walked away.
The hunt had begun.
