Chapter 2 - The Lockdown
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The estate transformed into a military fortress within the hour. Heavy steel shutters dropped over the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, sealing the mansion in an impenetrable, artificial twilight. Armed guards patrolled the corridors in tactical gear, their footsteps echoing ominously against the marble floors.
I stood in the center of Damian’s office, my arms wrapped tightly around my waist, watching him orchestrate the lockdown. He spoke rapidly in Italian into a secure satellite phone, his tone leaving no room for failure. When he finally hung up, he turned his full, terrifying attention back to me.
“Gabriel caught the second shooter near the perimeter wall,” Damian announced, leaning against his desk. “He took a cyanide pill before my men could interrogate him. They were professionals, Harper. Highly trained, completely untraceable ghosts.”
“Professionals are expensive,” I murmured, my mind racing through my mundane, invisible life. “I have exactly four hundred dollars in my checking account and a rusted Honda Civic. Who hires professional ghosts to kill a woman who scrubs floors for a living?”
“Someone who believes you possess something far more valuable than money,” Damian replied softly. He walked toward me, his physical presence overwhelming the space in the room. “Think, Harper. Before you came to Chicago, before you changed your last name to Ellison. Did your father leave you anything when he died? A document, a key, a code?”
My breath caught in my throat. I had spent years trying to forget Arthur Ellison. He had been a quiet, nervous man who worked as a freelance accountant for several unseemly businesses. He had died in a sudden, suspicious car crash five years ago, leaving me with nothing but debts and a target on my back from his old associates.
“He left me a necklace,” I whispered, my hand instinctively reaching up to touch the silver pendant hidden beneath the collar of my uniform. “It’s a cheap locket. It doesn't even open.”
Damian’s eyes darkened with instant realization. “Take it off.”
I reached behind my neck, unclasping the chain, and handed the silver locket to him. Damian inspected it carefully under the light of his desk lamp. He didn't try to pry it open with his hands. He took a heavy steel letter opener from his drawer and wedged it into a microscopic seam along the bottom edge.
With a sharp crack, the silver casing popped apart.
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Inside the locket was a tightly folded, water-resistant micro-SD card.
“You’ve been wearing a digital vault around your neck for five years,” Damian said, staring at the tiny black square. “Your father didn't leave you a cheap piece of jewelry, Harper. He left you the keys to a kingdom. And tonight, someone decided it was time to collect.”
