Chapter 9 - Ghost in the Machine
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Lennox sat in a private study at the Chicago Public Library on Congress Parkway, using a guest computer terminal connected to an encrypted proxy network.
On the screen in front of her were the live tracking feeds of Paxton’s logistics fleet.
Forty semi-trucks loaded with high-value cargo were currently stranded at various weigh stations across Illinois, Indiana, and Michigan. Without the automated digital clearance certificates Lennox used to generate every morning at 5:00 AM, state troopers were pulling the trucks over one by one.
Her phone buzzed on the wooden desk. It was an incoming call from an unlisted number.
She answered, holding the phone silently to her ear.
"Lennox?"
It was Paxton’s voice. He sounded hollow, ragged, like a man who had been screaming into an empty well for hours.
"Hello, Paxton," she said softly.
"Where are you?" he rasped. "Just tell me where you are. We can talk about this. I'll give you fifty percent. Sixty percent. Whatever you want."
Lennox looked out the window at the rain sweeping across the glass.
"It was never about the percentage, Paxton," she said.
"I made a mistake last night," Paxton pleaded, his arrogant veneer completely shattered. "I was stressed about the Delgado deal. I shouldn't have put my hands on you. You know how I get when things get out of control—"
"No, Paxton," Lennox interrupted, her tone flat and unbreakable. "You didn't make a mistake. You revealed who you were. And I finally believed you."
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"Lennox, please—"
"Know your place, Paxton," she said gently, and hung up the phone.
