Chapter 8 - The Academic
I stared at the glowing screen of my cell phone, entirely paralyzed by the sudden, terrifying implication.
"Answer it, and put it on speaker," Dominic ordered, drawing his weapon and checking the magazine.
I took a deep breath, swiped the green icon, and held the phone with shaking hands.
"Hello, Professor Thorne," I said, trying desperately to keep my voice steady and normal.
"Casey, my dear, I noticed someone accessed the department's secure archive network using your credentials tonight," the elderly voice chimed pleasantly.
He sounded exactly like the gentle academic mentor I had known for years, offering tea and discussing ancient syntax.
"I am just doing some late-night research for my thesis on postwar property laws," I lied smoothly.
A heavy, unsettling silence fell over the phone line for several agonizing seconds.
"You always were my brightest student, Casey, but you have stumbled into a library where you do not belong," Thorne said softly.
His gentle tone vanished entirely, replaced by a cold, calculating edge that made my blood run icy.
"I know you have the ledger, Casey, and I know Dominic Russo is sitting right next to you," Thorne revealed.
Dominic cursed under his breath, realizing the kind old professor had a surveillance network that rivaled his own.
"We are coming to the university to settle this, Thorne," Dominic promised darkly, leaning toward the phone.
"I look forward to it, Mr. Russo, but I suggest you hurry," Thorne replied with a chilling calmness.
"I have already initiated a digital wipe of the city's municipal property servers," Thorne announced.
"In exactly one hour, all public records of your shipping ports will be permanently erased, making my ledger the only legal claim in existence," he warned.
The line went dead, leaving us sitting in absolute silence as the magnitude of his trap sank in.
"He wants us to come to him," I told Dominic, stating the obvious tactical disadvantage.
"It does not matter what he wants, we have to stop that digital wipe," Dominic replied, accelerating the SUV.
We arrived at the Columbia University campus, the grand academic buildings looking eerie and desolate in the moonlight.
Dominic handed me a small, heavy pistol and showed me how to click off the safety mechanism.
"Keep this hidden, and do not hesitate if someone tries to grab you," he instructed seriously.
We slipped into the linguistics building through a side maintenance door, moving silently down the dark marble hallways.
The department was completely silent, but the heavy scent of gun smoke lingered faintly in the air.
We turned the corner toward Dr. Thorne's main office and stopped dead in our tracks.
Four of Dominic's most trusted cartel enforcers were lying lifeless on the floor, surrounded by shattered glass.
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Thorne was not a helpless academic; he was a ruthless syndicate boss who had been waiting in the shadows for fifty years.
Suddenly, a bright red laser sight flickered across my chest, locking perfectly onto my heart.
