Elias Kane stood over the main table, one palm flat on the cold glass as a dozen monitors lit his face in harsh blue light. On the screens: bank records, old photographs, timestamps of Duval’s phone calls. The Monaco fixer hadn’t slept. Neither had Elias. Neither could afford to.Lena leaned against the far wall, arms folded, dark circles under her eyes but a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. She liked this — the hunt, the blood scent.“He’s given us six accounts so far,” she said. “One flagged in Zurich, three in Dubai, two hidden under a shipping company in Cyprus. It’s Roarke’s backbone. He runs everything through these shells — real estate, bribes, dirty supply lines.”Marcus sat nearby, boots propped on a crate of old files. He was rolling a toothpick between his teeth. “And Duval’s ready to testify?”Elias didn’t look up. “If he wants to live.”Lena stepped closer, tapping a folder on the table. “If we move now, we can freeze these assets. The moment the Feds see proof Du

Chicago’s night air was slick with rain as the KaneTech convoy sliced down Lakeshore Drive, headlights carving tunnels through the mist.Inside the armored SUV, Elias Kane sat rigidly still, the city’s ghosted lights dancing across his sharp profile. Beside him, Lena flipped through a live feed on her tablet — security cams from the gala venue, encrypted messages, a map tracking Damian Roarke’s shell companies in real-time.Marcus sat in the front passenger seat, half-turned, boots braced against the dash. “The press is eating it up. ‘KaneTech’s Charity Summit for Tech Youth.’ You look like a saint on every channel.”Elias didn’t glance up. “Good. They’ll crucify me tomorrow if we fail.”Lena’s fingers flicked over the tablet, pulling up a shaky handheld video — some anonymous cell phone capture of Roarke leaving a private airstrip two nights ago. He was surrounded by three men in dark coats, faces pixelated beyond recognition. No one knew where he’d gone since.“Roarke knows the bait

The storm broke just after midnight, not rain, but headlines. By dawn, Chicago’s business blogs and national newsfeeds lit up with one name: Elias Kane. Not because of the Rotterdam trucks, though a few dogged reporters sniffed that trail. No, the bigger hit came from Roarke’s hand.From an anonymous source, a new leak spread like wildfire: allegations that KaneTech, under Elias’s watch, had manipulated city contracts, bribed port officials, and used shell companies to funnel foreign money into BrightStar expansions. The headlines were surgical, just enough truth twisted around false leads to set fire to the trust Elias had rebuilt.At six a.m., Lena slammed her fist on the glass wall of Elias’s office, the tablet in her other hand alive with headlines. “He dropped it overnight. Look at this, ‘Janitor King’s House of Cards,’ ‘KaneTech’s Slush Fund Tied to Syndicate Ghost Accounts.’ He’s calling you your mother’s son, but painting you as the dark half.”Elias barely glanced up from the

The old railyard near Lower West Side had been abandoned since the seventies — a maze of rusted boxcars and skeletal warehouses that only ghosts and criminals bothered to remember. Tonight, it belonged to Elias Kane.Fog rolled low across the cracked asphalt, ghosting around the feet of a dozen Syndicate operatives in black tactical gear. Lena moved through them like a general stalking her front line, voice low and clipped as she checked comms and signaled snipers to their hidden posts.At the far edge of the yard, inside a gutted freight office, Marcus leaned against a map-pinned wall, arms crossed over a Kevlar vest that strained against his bulk. Beside him, Elias hunched over an ancient wooden desk — blueprints of the Belmont Club spread wide, fresh intel overlaid with hand-drawn notes.He’d been here for hours. No boardroom suits tonight — just dark jeans, rolled sleeves, and the faint glow of his scar catching in the lamplight whenever he moved his head.Lena ducked through the

The dawn broke slowly over Chicago, the city’s skyscrapers piercing a sky smeared with streaks of orange and grey.Below, the streets were already alive with the hum of traffic and the murmur of a city that never truly slept. But inside the private chambers of KaneTech Tower, the air was thick with tension and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Elias Kane sat behind the vast mahogany desk in his office, eyes fixed on the sprawling cityscape beyond the glass wall.His mind wasn’t on the skyline or the rising sun. It was on the fragile calm that had settled over KaneTech — a calm he knew was only temporary. The board meeting scheduled in a few hours would be a crucible, a test of loyalty, strategy, and power. The Voss family was scrambling to claw back control, and the appearance of Damian Roarke on the scene had only sharpened their claws.Lena leaned against the doorframe, watching Elias as he traced invisible patterns on the desk. “You look like you haven’t slept.”“I haven’t,” Elia