Chapter 8 - THE NIGHT CHICAGO CLOSED
There are moments when fear becomes too large to feel.
You stop panicking.
You stop bargaining.
Something cold takes over.
I looked at Marcus.
“Find it.”
“We have police, federal agents, and our own teams moving.”
“Find it.”
“Lawson—”
“My daughter gave her brother the first sample because I promised her another was coming.”
My voice cracked.
“So find it.”
The courier attack happened on Interstate 94.
A stolen SUV forced the medical transport vehicle into the median.
Two masked people removed the cryogenic container and disappeared in under ninety seconds.
Professional.
Planned.
Daniel.
It had to be.
His jet remained at Midway.
He had never boarded.
The Switzerland flight plan was misdirection.
“He’s still in Chicago,” Marcus said.
“Where?”
“We’re checking properties.”
Mara studied Genevieve’s files.
“Don’t search his properties.”
“Why?”
“He knows you’ll search them.”
“Then where?”
She opened the Blackwell folder.
“Sable owns a private clinical laboratory on the South Side.”
Yates looked up.
“Blackwell Annex.”
Everyone turned.
“You know it?”
“Voss took me there once.”
“You forgot to mention that?”
“I didn’t know it still existed.”
Marcus searched.
The listed facility had officially closed four years earlier.
Electricity usage said otherwise.
We moved.
I wanted to stay with Blythe.
I also knew Daniel had her sample.
So I kissed my daughter and told her I was bringing her medicine home.
“Don’t be long,” she whispered.
“I won’t.”
Jonah remained unconscious while the first-stage graft procedure began.
Yates stayed with him.
Mara came with Marcus and me.
Blackwell Annex looked abandoned from the street.
Windows covered.
Sign removed.
But thermal cameras showed six people inside.
Federal agents surrounded the block.
Marcus wanted to wait.
I did not.
For once, law enforcement agreed with me.
A child’s biological treatment had been stolen.
They entered within minutes.
The first floor was empty.
The basement was not.
Laboratory lights burned beneath concrete.
Freezers hummed.
Medical equipment lined the walls.
And inside one sealed room sat Daniel Cross.
No disguise.
No panic.
My daughter’s cryogenic container rested on the table beside him.
I moved toward it.
An agent stopped me.
Daniel raised both hands.
“Careful.”
“Open the door.”
“Not yet.”
I looked through the glass.
He held a small remote device.
“What is that?”
“Temperature control.”
Marcus swore.
Daniel smiled.
“If anyone enters without the code, the unit vents.”
“You would destroy a child’s treatment.”
“I would destroy evidence.”
“She is six.”
“And she should never have existed.”
I lunged toward the glass.
Marcus grabbed me.
Daniel continued.
“Not personally, Lawson. Genetically.”
“Open the door.”
“You need to understand what your family stole.”
“My family?”
“Northstar was my life’s work before Mercer money arrived. Voss had brilliance but no discipline. Your father financed us, then panicked when ethics committees started asking questions.”
“So you used my children?”
“Your children were proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That human genetic correction could persist for years.”
“They’re dying.”
“Because Voss’s correction was imperfect.”
“You activated it.”
Daniel smiled.
“Yes.”
Mara whispered, “Why now?”
“Because the Sable acquisition closes in eleven days. Once Mercer Holdings owns the patents, Lawson controls the cure.”
I stared.
“You wanted me desperate enough to close the deal.”
“Exactly.”
“If the twins died?”
“Tragic failure. Patents still valuable.”
“If they survived?”
“A miracle treatment worth tens of billions.”
“You killed Genevieve.”
For the first time, his expression changed.
“She forced my hand.”
Rage roared through me.
“What did you do?”
“She was going to the FBI.”
“How?”
“The aneurysm was real.”
He tilted his head.
“We simply accelerated what her mutation was already capable of doing.”
Mara made a sound of disgust.
“My mother?”
“Evelyn should have stayed silent.”
There it was.
Two murders confessed as casually as corporate decisions.
Federal agents recorded everything.
Daniel knew.
Maybe he no longer cared.
“Give me the sample.”
“What will you give me?”
“Anything.”
He smiled.
“That’s the Lawson Mercer I needed.”
“Name it.”
“Complete the Sable acquisition.”
“No.”
“Then your daughter dies.”
Mara looked at me.
Marcus said nothing.
Daniel continued.
“Sign an irrevocable closing authorization. Tonight.”
“You want $6.4 billion?”
“I want Blackwell’s patents owned by Mercer Holdings without federal seizure.”
“Why?”
“Because once the deal closes, the research becomes part of a corporation too large to dismantle quietly.”
“You think I’ll protect you?”
“No.”
“I think your shareholders will protect their money.”
He understood systems.
He believed greed was stronger than justice.
Maybe usually it was.
I looked at Marcus.
“Get me the document.”
His face hardened.
“Lawson.”
“Do it.”
Twenty minutes later, attorneys prepared an emergency digital acquisition authorization.
Daniel watched through the glass.
I signed.
He smiled.
“Send it.”
I pressed submit.
His laptop chimed.
“Good.”
“Now the sample.”
“Not yet.”
My stomach dropped.
“You said—”
“I said complete the acquisition.”
“It’s signed.”
“Closing requires escrow confirmation.”
Mara whispered, “He’s stalling.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Smart girl.”
Then the laboratory lights flickered.
Marcus smiled.
Daniel’s face changed.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” I said.
But Marcus had.
While lawyers distracted Daniel with documents, federal cyber teams breached the building controls.
The sealed room unlocked.
Daniel looked at his remote.
Dead.
Agents rushed inside.
Daniel grabbed the cryogenic container.
I thought he would throw it.
Instead he ran.
Through a rear laboratory door.
Marcus tackled him before he reached the corridor.
The container hit the floor.
Mara screamed.
I dropped beside it.
The temperature display flashed.
-152°C.
Stable.
I almost cried.
An agent handcuffed Daniel.
He stared up at me from the floor.
“You think you won?”
I picked up the container.
“My daughter gets to decide that.”
“You have no idea what will happen after the graft.”
I stopped.
“What does that mean?”
He laughed.
“The second phase has already begun.”
Marcus hauled him upright.
“What second phase?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Ask Yates why Jonah lost consciousness before receiving the graft.”
My phone rang.
Yates.
I answered.
“Tell me Jonah is stable.”
Silence.
“Franklin.”
“The graft took.”
Relief.
Then:
“But something else is happening.”
“What?”
“His neurological activity is deteriorating.”
“Why?”
“We found viral markers in his blood.”
The activation vector.
My blood ran cold.
“Can you treat it?”
“Not with the graft alone.”
“What do you need?”
Yates hesitated.
“Voss.”
I looked through the laboratory.
Elias Voss was in federal custody.
Daniel had stolen Blythe’s sample.
And somewhere between those two monsters sat the knowledge my son needed.
May you like
I carried the container toward the exit.
“Get Voss.”
