Chapter 6 - The Sabotage
On Tuesday night, forty-eight hours before the historic board meeting, a heavy snowstorm blanketed Chicago in six inches of fresh powder.
At 11:30 PM, the lights inside the Whitmore Manor garage were dim.
A sleek black delivery van pulled up to the service gate. Two men dressed in dark utility uniforms stepped out, carrying heavy toolboxes. They were intercepted by Harrison at the security booth.
"State your business," Harrison commanded, stepping out into the cold air with his hand resting near his sidearm.
"City Gas and Electric, sir," the lead driver said, presenting a laminated identification badge. "We received an automated pressure emergency alert from the estate's primary heating lines along the perimeter wall."
Harrison inspected the badge under his flashlight. It looked entirely authentic, bearing the official seal of Chicago Gas.
"I didn't receive an alert from the main office," Harrison noted, his military instincts instantly on guard.
"It was routed through the municipal emergency grid, chief," the driver explained smoothly. "If we don't inspect the valve in the south basement within twenty minutes, the backup pressure will freeze your main boiler."
Harrison hesitated for two seconds, then pulled out his radio. "Security desk, this is Harrison. I’m escorting two utility technicians to the south boiler room."
He guided the two men down the exterior stairs into the vast subterranean basement of the estate.
However, as Harrison reached for the heavy metal door handle of the boiler room, the technician behind him moved with terrifying speed. A heavy metallic rod struck Harrison sharply behind his left ear.
Harrison collapsed onto the concrete floor, unconscious.
The two men didn't touch the boiler. Instead, they moved quickly toward the private elevator shaft that led directly up to the East Wing.
They were Julian's covert ops team, hired by Richard Caldwell. Their mission was simple: plant a sophisticated electronic listening device inside Emily’s suite, steal the original 1944 Carter military discharge papers from Alexander's study, and stage a chemical spill in the East Wing air ducts that would force Emily and Lily to be rushed to an isolated private clinic controlled by Richard’s team—keeping her absent from Thursday's board meeting.
The lead operative slipped a lock-picking kit into the private elevator door.
Inside the East Wing suite above, ten-year-old Lily was awake.
She couldn't sleep. She had walked over to the small kitchen nook to get a glass of water when she heard a strange, rhythmic clicking sound coming from the ventilation grate near the floor.
Lily remembered what Alexander had taught her about the chess knight: When obstacles stand in front of you, find an creative path.
Lily dropped her water glass, ran over to her mother's bed, and shook Emily's shoulder frantically.
"Mom! Wake up!" Lily whispered in terror. "There are bad men in the wall!"
Emily sat up instantly, her maternal instincts razor-sharp. "What?"
"I heard the metal clicking in the vent!" Lily cried. "Like the locks at the old apartment!"
Emily didn't hesitate. She grabbed Lily, threw a heavy robe around her daughter's shoulders, and picked up her phone to dial Alexander's private line.
Line dead. The estate's communications had been jammed.
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"Lily," Emily whispered, her voice cold with sudden clarity. "We’re going out through the terrace."
She grabbed the original 1944 military medal from the nightstand, tucked it into her pocket, unlocked the french doors leading to the snow-dusted stone terrace, and stepped out into the freezing winter night.
