Chapter 3 - The Brownstone’s Secret
My aunt’s brownstone was a sprawling, three-story Victorian masterpiece in the Gold Coast neighborhood. It smelled of old mahogany, dust, and dried lavender. It was beautiful, but it was also a fortress.
As I walked through the grand entryway, I couldn't shake the feeling that Silas’s desperation went deeper than just paying off his debts. Why was he so obsessed with this specific house? He could have sued for a cash equivalent, but his legal filings explicitly demanded the deed to the property.
I spent the next three days tearing the house apart. My training at the Division had taught me how to find the things people didn't want found. I checked hollow baseboards, measured the interior and exterior dimensions of rooms to find hidden voids, and swept for electronic bugs.
On the third night, in my aunt’s basement wine cellar, I found it.
Behind a heavy rack of vintage Bordeaux was a section of mortar that didn't match the rest. I chiseled it away, revealing a steel, biometric wall safe. Fortunately, before she passed, my aunt had given me a small, encrypted thumb drive disguised as a necklace charm. I plugged it into a port I jury-rigged into the safe's control panel.
The heavy steel door hissed open.
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Inside wasn't cash or jewels. It was a single, thick manila envelope. I pulled it out and spilled the contents onto the oak tasting table. They were original deeds, blackmail material, and ledger books. My aunt hadn't just been a sweet old lady; she had been the silent bookkeeper for a massive, corrupt real estate syndicate in Chicago.
And right there, highlighted in red, was my father’s name. He wasn't just in debt. He had stolen millions from some of the most dangerous people in the city, and the proof was sitting right in front of me.
