Chapter 11 - The Dead Man's Whiskey
Arthur Vance raised his glass toward the dark window, as if he could see Julian standing in the shadows outside. The decades had added deep lines to his face and a stark white streak to his dark hair, but the predatory glint in his eyes remained entirely unchanged.
"I told you to look beyond the people in the room, Julian," Arthur’s voice echoed through a hidden PA system, bouncing off the corrugated metal walls of the cavernous warehouse and filling the damp night air. "Did you really think a simple insurance fire could erase the family debt so easily?"
Julian’s mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle snapping together with terrifying clarity. Arthur hadn't died in the Chicago fire fifteen years ago. He had engineered it, faked his own death, stolen Julian's initial capital, and waited in the shadows while Julian built a massive empire—building it high enough so that when it finally fell, the crash would shatter everything Julian held dear.
"We have to go through the roof access," Victoria whispered urgently in Julian's ear, her eyes darting up the exterior metal ladder attached to the side of the warehouse. "If we kick the front door, they'll use the girl as a shield before we can clear the floor."
Julian nodded once, his face carved from stone. He didn't hesitate. He scrambled up the rusted metal rungs of the ladder like a man possessed, his tactical boots finding purchase on the slick rungs despite the freezing river wind. Victoria followed closely behind him, moving with the practiced grace of a seasoned operative.
They reached the flat roof of the warehouse within seconds. Julian pulled a specialized cutting tool from his tactical belt, pressing the thermal head against the thin sheet metal of the roof hatch. With a sharp hiss and a blinding flash of blue-white sparks, the metal melted away in a clean circle.
Julian kicked the cutout inward, letting it drop silently onto the dusty catwalk below. He dropped through the hatch first, landing softly on the metal grating just twenty feet away from where Arthur Vance stood leaning against the railing.
Arthur didn't even turn around. He simply swirled the amber liquid in his crystal glass, chuckling softly to himself as he looked down at little Lily sitting terrified in the circle of light below.
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"You always were too impatient, nephew," Arthur said smoothly, finally turning his head to face Julian. "And now, your impatience has brought you straight to your own funeral."
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