Chapter 8 - The Chicago Freight King
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As Ellie’s strength returned, so did her curiosity.
She began walking around the penthouse, moving slowly, a hand pressed protectively against her ribs. She quickly learned the rhythm of Jack’s world. It was a world of hushed phone calls in the middle of the night, men in suits delivering encrypted hard drives, and millions of dollars moving across shipping lanes under the guise of legitimate logistics.
One evening, she wandered into Jack’s massive corner study. The door was ajar.
Jack was standing behind his mahogany desk, a glass of amber scotch in one hand, shouting into a phone.
“I don’t care if the docks are on strike. You tell Petrov that if that shipment of steel doesn’t clear customs by midnight, I will personally sink his entire fleet into the harbor. Are we clear?”
He hung up, slamming the phone down so hard the desk shook. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long, exhausted breath. Then, he looked up and saw Ellie standing in the doorway.
The lethal aggression instantly drained from his posture.
“You shouldn’t be walking without the cane,” Jack said, his voice dropping an octave as he walked over to her.
“I hate that cane,” Ellie muttered. “Who is Petrov?”
“Nobody you need to worry about.” Jack expertly deflected, pulling a leather armchair out for her. “Sit down before you fall down.”
Ellie sat, watching him carefully. “You’re not just a freight CEO, are you? The paramedics, the hospital... they were terrified of you. The media calls you a visionary, but they don’t see the guns your guards carry.”
Jack leaned against the edge of his desk, looking down at her. He could have lied. He could have fed her the corporate spin he gave the reporters.
“My grandfather ran the Irish mob in this city,” Jack said quietly. “My father tried to legitimize the money. I sit somewhere in the middle. I move cargo. What’s inside the cargo isn’t always legal, and the men who try to take it from me aren’t exactly gentlemen.”
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“And the men who shot at Liam?”
“A rival faction. The Volkov syndicate,” Jack’s eyes turned to absolute ice. “They thought killing my heir would make me weak. They were wrong. And they are going to pay.”
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