Chapter 5 - The Glass Tower
The Blackwood Tower pierced the Chicago skyline like a jagged shard of obsidian. At 7:50 AM the next morning, Harper stepped into the grand marble lobby, feeling entirely out of place. She had traded her frayed cardigans for a simple, professional black dress she had bought from a thrift store years ago, but surrounded by people in thousands of dollars' worth of bespoke tailoring, she felt like an imposter.
She approached the security desk. Before she could even speak, the guard nodded respectfully. “Miss Quinn. Mr. Blackwood is expecting you on the top floor. Private elevator to your left.”
Harper swallowed her nerves and swiped the temporary keycard she’d been given. The elevator shot upward at a dizzying speed, depositing her directly into a sprawling, sunlit penthouse office. It was a masterpiece of modern design—dark wood, brushed steel, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Michigan.
“You’re early,” a smooth voice called out.
Damian was seated behind a massive mahogany desk, reviewing a tablet. He wore a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms heavily inked with dark, intricate tattoos—a stark reminder that the corporate CEO was also a kingpin.
“I’m never late,” Harper said, stepping into the room. She kept her chin high, refusing to let the intimidation of his wealth crush her.
“Good.” Damian gestured to a sleek glass desk situated just outside the door to his inner sanctum. “That is your station. You have access to my calendar, my encrypted emails, and my legitimate bank routing numbers. Your first task is to audit the quarterly reports from the South Side shipping yards.”
Harper blinked. “You’re giving me access to your bank accounts on day one?”
“I told you, you’ve already proven your integrity.” Damian stood up, walking slowly toward her. His sheer physical size was overwhelming. “But be warned, Harper. My world is dangerous. The people who come through those doors will smile at you while calculating the cost of a bullet with your name on it. Trust no one but me.”
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“I don't even trust you,” she shot back instinctively.
Damian stopped in front of her, leaning down slightly so they were eye to eye. “You will,” he promised, his voice a low, magnetic vibration. “Now, get to work.”
