Chapter 3 - The Ghost on the Wire
The night passed in an agonizing crawl. Nora lay in the massive bed in the nursery suite, her arm draped over the side of the crib where Wren slept with a deep, effortless rhythm she hadn't achieved since her birth. The room was perfectly silent, save for the soft, expensive hum of the medical-grade air purifier Stellan had ordered.
At 3:45 a.m., Nora’s personal phone—the cheap, cracked burner she used for her life on the South Side—buzzed against the nightstand.
She snatched it up before the sound could wake Wren. The screen displayed an unknown number from a Chicago area code. Her thumb shook as she slid the bar to answer.
"Nora?"
The voice was low, smooth, and instantly recognizable. It was the voice that had filled her ears in the back of a small apartment three miles from the university campus a year ago. Julian Barrett.
"Julian," she whispered, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a sob. "How did you get this number? I changed it. I told you I wouldn't call your office again."
"You didn't have to call," Julian said, his voice carrying a nervous, frantic edge that she had never heard from him before. "Nora, where the hell are you? My brother’s guys went to your apartment on 55th tonight to... to check on some things. The place was cleared out. Your landlord said a couple of guys in dark suits paid off your back rent in cash and took your things in a logistics van."
"Why were your brother’s guys coming to my apartment, Julian?" Nora asked, her fear suddenly turning into a cold, sharp anger. "To check on me? Or to make sure I hadn't filed a claim for child support with the state?"
"Listen to me very carefully," Julian hissed through the static of the line. "If you’re trying to play some kind of game, if you went to the press or the cops—"
"I didn't go to anyone," she said, looking over at the crib. "I’m working. I found a place to stay."
"Where?" Julian demanded. "The cars that took your stuff were registered to a blind trust controlled by the Cross family. Nora... tell me you didn't go to the North Side. Tell me you aren't anywhere near Stellan Cross."
"Why do you care where I am?" she whispered. "You told me I was nothing. You told me Wren was a mistake that didn't exist."
"If Stellan Cross has you," Julian said, his breath hitching over the wire, "he doesn't want you for your resume, Nora. He wants you because my father’s health is failing, and the alignment of the unions is coming up for a vote next month. If he thinks he can use you to cause a scandal—"
The line suddenly went dead. Not with the standard click of a disconnected call, but with a sharp, electronic screech that indicated a deliberate interception.
Nora stared at the screen. The phone displayed a single text message from an automated system within the house: Network connection terminated by administrator.
She stood up, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. She moved to the window, pulling back the heavy velvet curtain by an inch. Down in the courtyard below, under the bright yellow floodlights of the security perimeter, three black SUVs were idling. Men in heavy coats were loading tactical cases into the trunks.
Standing near the lead vehicle was Stellan. He was wearing a long black overcoat, his face illuminated by the glow of a cigarette he held between his scarred fingers. Beside him stood Dr. Vance, holding a thick white folder with a red security seal across the latch.
May you like
Stellan took a long pull from the cigarette, then dropped it onto the gravel, crushing it beneath his heel. He took the folder from Dr. Vance, tossed it into the front seat of the SUV, and climbed in. The three vehicles moved out of the courtyard in perfect, silent synchronization, their headlights turned off until they cleared the outer iron gates of the estate.
Nora let the curtain fall back into place. She knew what was in that folder. The genetic test was done. The secret was out, and whatever Stellan Cross was about to do with it, the city of Chicago was about to find out exactly how much a maid's baby was worth on the open market of the underworld.
