Chapter 14 - The Chase
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"Chicago PD! Keep your hands where I can see them!" a booming voice echoed through a megaphone.
My father hadn't just brought muscle; he had brought the law. He had leveraged his extensive political connections to ensure a specialized task force was waiting in the wings.
Julian’s eyes darted wildly, calculating his odds. He was trapped. The dockworkers blocked the path to the trees, and the police blocked the street.
But desperate men are utterly unpredictable.
Instead of surrendering, Julian lunged violently toward me. He didn't want the files anymore; he wanted a hostage.
"Evelyn, run!" Sully roared, charging forward.
I didn't hesitate. I dropped the fake folder and sprinted blindly toward the police cruisers. Julian was faster. His hand clamped down viciously on the hood of my coat, yanking me backward with terrifying force. I screamed as I lost my footing, crashing onto the freezing concrete.
Before Julian could drag me up, a heavy steel crowbar slammed into his shoulder.
Julian howled in pain, releasing my coat. Sully had reached him, delivering a brutal, bone-jarring strike. Julian stumbled sideways, grasping his injured arm, but the adrenaline masked the injury. He spun around, pulled a small, concealed handgun from his overcoat, and fired wildly into the dark.
The gunshot shattered the quiet park.
Chaos erupted. The police officers drew their weapons, shouting conflicting orders. Sully and the dockworkers dove for cover behind the stone pillars of the pavilion.
I scrambled across the concrete on my hands and knees, desperate to find safety.
Julian realized the gunfire had sealed his fate. He abandoned the hostage strategy, sprinting into the dense, dark woods of Grant Park, disappearing into the shadows before the police could return fire safely in the crowded area.
Strong hands grabbed my arms, hauling me to my feet. It was my father. He practically carried me to the safety of the armored police SUV, shoving me into the back seat.
"Are you hit?" my father demanded, his hands frantically checking my coat for blood.
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"No, I'm okay," I sobbed, the adrenaline crash hitting me like a freight train. "He got away, Dad. He got away."
"He's a cornered rat, Evelyn," my father said grimly, watching the police tactical teams deploy into the woods with flashlights. "He has no money, no leverage, and now he's a fugitive for firing a weapon at the police. The war is over. He lost."
