Chapter 5 - THE PENTHOUSE
The phone line went dead.
Rosie stared at the blank screen, the dial tone ringing in her ears like a death knell.
Arthur Vance.
The immaculate, condescending general manager of the Drake Hotel, who complained about lint on the lobby carpets and spent his weekends at the yacht club.
He wasn’t just a corrupt boss. He was working with Rossi.
“Turn the car around,” Lorenzo ordered Mateo instantly. His voice had lost its conversational warmth. It was now pure steel.
The heavy SUV violently swerved across two lanes of Lower Wacker Drive, tires screeching against the damp pavement.
Rosie clutched the silver key so tightly her palm bled.
“Vance,” she whispered, struggling to make sense of it. “Why Vance?”
“The Drake handles millions in international wire transfers for high-end clients every week,” Lorenzo explained grimly. “It’s the perfect washing machine for dirty money. Rossi couldn’t move his stolen funds without a clean portal. Your boss provided it.”
“And my grandmother’s ledger proves it,” Rosie realized.
“It proves everything. The supply routes, the offshore accounts. Vance is tying up loose ends. And you, my dear, are the final knot.”
Lorenzo reached beneath his seat and pulled out a heavy, matte-black handgun. He checked the magazine with terrifying efficiency.
Rosie had never been around guns.
She was a woman who organized floral arrangements and seating charts.
But as she looked at Leo’s empty red coat, the fear evaporated, leaving behind a cold, hard focus.
She was Elara Viti’s granddaughter. She would not be a victim.
“The penthouse has private elevator access,” Rosie said, her voice steadying.
Lorenzo paused, looking at her with a glint of respect.
“Vance will have men watching it,” Mateo grunted from the front seat.
“Not the service elevator,” Rosie replied. “It requires a biometric scan from senior staff. Vance revoked Rossi’s access last month after a dispute in the lobby. Only Vance and I can open it.”
They pulled into the loading dock alley behind the hotel.
The rain had started, casting long, fractured shadows across the brick walls.
“You stay behind me,” Lorenzo commanded as they stepped out of the vehicle. Mateo flanked them, drawing his own weapon.
Rosie didn’t argue. She swiped her thumb on the hidden scanner behind the dumpster.
A heavy metal door clicked open.
The service elevator ride took exactly forty-two seconds.
It felt like hours.
When the doors slid open on the penthouse floor, the corridor was dark.
Rosie stepped forward, the thick carpet silencing her footsteps.
She knew every inch of this suite. She had decorated it.
They approached the double mahogany doors of the main living area.
Lorenzo kicked the doors open.
The room was beautifully lit by the Chicago skyline, but it was a scene of chaos.
Arthur Vance stood by the glass balcony doors, a revolver trembling in his manicured hand.
Sitting on the velvet sofa, clutching his plastic dinosaur, was Leo.
His face was tear-stained, his breathing shallow and ragged.
“Auntie Rosie!” Leo cried out.
“Leo, stay right there, baby!” Rosie shouted, stepping into the room.
Vance leveled the gun at her.
“The key, Rosie. Toss it on the floor.”
Vance looked panicked. He wasn’t a killer. He was a greedy man who had gotten in too deep.
“Where is Rossi?” Lorenzo asked, his weapon aimed squarely at Vance’s chest.
Vance let out a frantic laugh.
“Rossi? Rossi’s dead. I poisoned his scotch twenty minutes ago. I don’t share, Lorenzo.”
Rosie’s stomach dropped.
The reversal spun the room.
Rossi wasn’t the mastermind. Vance was. He had used Rossi to kidnap Leo, only to eliminate him and take the ledger for himself.
“Give me the key,” Vance screamed, grabbing Leo by the collar of his shirt.
Leo let out a terrified shriek, gasping for air. His asthma was triggering.
Rosie’s vision went red.
Without thinking, without hesitating, she reached into her pocket.
But she didn’t pull out the silver key.
She pulled out the heavy, tarnished silver pocket watch.
She threw it as hard as she could directly at the floor-to-ceiling window behind Vance.
The heavy silver shattered the glass with a deafening CRACK.
The cold Chicago wind roared into the room, sending the drapes whipping into Vance’s face.
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Startled, Vance flinched and dropped Leo.
In that split second, a gunshot rang out.
