Chapter 5: The Skyline Through the Glass
The windshield wipers beat a frantic rhythm against the glass as Julian navigated the rain-slicked streets of downtown Chicago. The towering skyscrapers loomed above them like silent giants, their upper floors swallowed by low, heavy clouds. Inside the car, the silence was suffocating, broken only by the hum of the heater and the steady drone of the tires on wet asphalt.
In the passenger seat, Evelyn stared out the window, her reflection ghosting over the glowing neon signs of storefronts passing by. “Julian,” she began softly, breaking the long silence. “If Clara really is heading to the loft, what are we going to find there? The police report said everything from the night of the accident was cleaned up weeks ago.”
“The police report relied entirely on Vance’s hospital assessments,” Julian said, his eyes fixed on the red taillights of the car ahead. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles ached. “They didn't look at her personal backups. Clara kept encrypted files on an external drive in her studio. If those files still exist, everything Vance and the board tried to bury is right there.”
In the backseat, Dr. Vance shifted slightly, his voice cutting through the quiet like a scalpel. “External drives can be corrupted, Mr. Hayes. Water damage from the river accident alone would have ruined any standard magnetic storage media. You are chasing ghosts.”
“Then why are you sweating, Doctor?” Julian asked, glancing at the rearview mirror. He caught Vance’s eyes in the glass; the older man was indeed wiping a thin sheen of moisture from his forehead with a neatly folded handkerchief.
“The temperature in this vehicle is unnecessarily high,” Vance replied evenly, adjusting his cuffs. “And my concern is strictly for your family’s well-being. A public scandal involving the pharmaceutical trials will destroy the foundation your father built.”
“My father built this company on ethics, not suppression,” Evelyn interjected, her voice sharp and commanding, leaving no room for argument. She turned her head to look directly at Vance in the backseat. “If Clara exposed a flaw in the neurological trials, the board should have recalled the drug immediately instead of fabricating a psychiatric breakdown to silence her.”
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Vance pressed his lips into a thin line and looked away, out his own window. The car slowed as they hit a red light near the old arts district, where the brick warehouses stood shoulder-to-shoulder with modern glass high-rises.
Julian tapped his fingers against the leather steering wheel. Out the window, a familiar wrought-iron fire escape climbed the side of a five-story brick building. The windows on the top floor were dark, but a faint, amber glow flickered from deep within the studio loft. Someone was inside.
