Chapter 2 - The Fortress of Glass and Steel
By 3:00 AM, the Sullivan estate was swarming with federal agents.
Arthur and Beatrice Sullivan were led out of their grand mansion in handcuffs, swaddled in rain coats to hide their faces from the sudden onslaught of news cameras that had swarmed the iron gates. Gregory Finch, the cowardly lawyer, was picked up at the airport trying to board a private flight to Zurich.
Meanwhile, a quiet world away from the chaos, a long black limousine pulled up to a towering glass skyscraper in the West Loop—the Hayes Syndicate’s private residence and corporate headquarters.
Lana sat in the back seat, wrapped in a plush cashmere blanket, holding a warm cup of herbal tea that Brennan’s driver had handed her.
Brennan sat across from her, studying her with quiet intensity.
“You’re safe now, Lana,” Brennan said softly. “My estate is built like a bunker. Nobody steps foot in this building without my personal clearance.”
“Why are you doing all this for me, Brennan?” Lana asked, looking into his storm-gray eyes. “I know about the debt... but you’ve risked an open war with the city’s political elite for a woman you haven't seen in four years.”
Brennan looked out the tinted window at the wet, glowing city lights below.
“Four years ago, when my sister died of that sudden aneurysm,” Brennan murmured, his voice heavy with old grief, “I was surrounded by bodyguards, corrupt politicians, and opportunistic vultures. Everyone wanted something from me. Everyone was lying. Except you. You were the only person in that cold hospital room who saw a grieving brother, not a ruthless mob boss.”
He turned back to face her.
“I don't forget genuine loyalty, Lana. In my world, it’s rarer than gold. And right now, you need a weapon. I happen to be the biggest gun in this city.”
The limousine descended into a subterranean garage. Moments later, a private elevator whisked them up seventy floors to a magnificent, minimalist penthouse. Warm golden light illuminated sleek hardwood floors, marble countertops, and expansive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Michigan.
A team of private medical staff was waiting.
For the next hour, a gentle female doctor cleaned the cuts on Lana’s knees, applied ointment to her bruised jaw, and wrapped her wrist. A maid prepared a hot bath in the master suite and laid out soft, comfortable clothes.
When Lana finally stepped out into the living room, wearing a cream-colored silk robe, she looked human again. Her damp hair fell over her shoulders, and though her jaw was still slightly bruised, her eyes held a fierce, reborn strength.
Brennan was standing by the fireplace, sipping scotch, looking over a stack of legal documents his team had already compiled overnight.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, stepping toward her.
“Better,” Lana admitted. “It feels strange... not having to run. For two years, while Leo was sick, his parents made every day a psychological war zone.”
“That war is over,” Brennan said, taking her hand and leading her to a comfortable sofa. “Now we begin the clean-up.”
He laid three thick folders on the coffee table.
“While you were resting, my legal team analyzed the preliminary data unlocked from Leo’s ring,” Brennan explained. “The Sullivan family fortune—worth roughly $1.2 billion—is tied up in Sullivan Global Logistics. Arthur and Beatrice held 40%. Leo held 51%, giving him absolute control. The remaining 9% is scattered among minor board members.”
“And Leo’s 51%?” Lana asked.
“Belongs entirely to you,” Brennan said, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. “The forged will Arthur used has been officially voided by the probate court based on the encrypted video evidence. As of two hours ago, Lana Gallagher, you are the majority shareholder and controlling owner of Sullivan Global Logistics.”
Lana stared at the documents, her heart hammering against her ribs. She went from having thirty dollars in her checking account and sleeping in the rain to owning one of the largest shipping conglomerates in North America.
“However,” Brennan cautioned, his tone becoming serious, “owning the company on paper is only half the battle. Arthur’s younger brother, Charles Sullivan, is currently acting as interim CEO. He’s a ruthless, backstabbing snake who was secretly in league with Arthur to sell the company’s logistics network to an international crime syndicate known as the Iron Vipers.”
Lana’s eyes narrowed. “The Iron Vipers? The Russian cartel?”
“Yes,” Brennan nodded, his jaw setting hard. “The Vipers have been trying to gain a foothold in Chicago’s ports for a decade. Charles Sullivan promised to open the docks to them in exchange for fifty million dollars in kickbacks. The emergency board meeting to confirm the sale is scheduled for tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM.”
Lana looked at her hands—the skin raw, but the fire inside her burning brighter than ever.
May you like
“Then we have a board meeting to crash,” Lana said coldly.
Brennan smiled, his dark eyes sparkling with lethal admiration. “I’ll have my tailor bring over a dress.”
