Chapter 10 - Arthur's Network
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The ambush changed the entire dynamic of the war. Julian had crossed from legal harassment into outright criminal intimidation.
My father did not call the police. He knew that filing a report about unidentified men fleeing a shipping yard would result in nothing but paperwork. Instead, he mobilized a network far more efficient than any law enforcement agency: the Chicago dockworkers union.
The next morning, the safehouse became a command center.
Massive, bearded men in high-visibility vests filed in and out, bringing coffee, donuts, and information. My father sat at the head of the metal table, orchestrating a city-wide surveillance operation fueled entirely by loyalty.
"We got a partial plate on the getaway SUV, Boss," a foreman named Sully reported, slapping a greasy notepad onto the table. "Traced it to a private security firm operating out of the South Side. The firm is owned by a guy named Viktor Rossi. He does off-the-books muscle work for corporate executives."
"Julian hired mercenaries," I whispered, the reality of my husband's desperation truly sinking in.
"He hired cheap mercenaries," my father corrected, his eyes narrowing. "Rossi is known for taking jobs that involve scaring people, but he doesn't want the heat of a murder charge. He’s a businessman. Which means he has a weakness."
"What's the play, Arthur?" Sully asked.
"I want you to shut down every single shipping container belonging to Rossi's legitimate import business," my father ordered, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "If his trucks try to move cargo through my docks, block them. If his ships try to unload, delay them for 'inspections.' We bleed his wallet until he realizes taking a job from Julian Mercer is the most expensive mistake he's ever made."
Sully grinned, a predatory flash of teeth. "Consider it done, Boss."
As the men filtered out, my father turned to me.
"Julian is losing control of his narrative," my father said, pulling up the Project Atlas files on his laptop. "But we still need admissible evidence to destroy him in family court. We need physical documents tying him to the embezzlement, something not obtained by a remote hack."
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"The hard copies," I realized, my heart pounding. "He keeps a locked briefcase in his office closet. He never lets it out of his sight. I always assumed it was client contracts."
"If we get that briefcase," my father said softly, "we win."
