Gabriel stared at Evan for three long, agonizing seconds, searching the face of the man who had stood beside him through turf wars, federal investigations, and the long, blood-soaked transition into legitimate enterprise.

At 9:00 AM sharp, the executive boardroom on the thirty-second floor of Rowan Freight Holdings was filled with tension thick enough to cut with a blade. Twelve senior executives, all dressed in dark suits, sat around the polished walnut table.

At Gabriel’s right sat Evan Cross. He looked impeccable, sipping black coffee, his tablet open in front of him. But Gabriel, observing him with microscopic precision, noticed the subtle tremor in Evan’s right pinky finger—a nervous tic he had possessed since they were boys on the South Side.

Gabriel stood at the head of the table. He didn't use a slide deck. He didn't open a folder. He placed his palms flat on the wood and looked at every man in the room.

“Gentlemen,” Gabriel began, his deep voice commanding total silence. “I called this emergency session because our company stands at a precipice. For ten years, we have worked to clean up our logistics chain. But old shadows have long memories.”

Evan took a slow sip of his coffee. “Gabriel, is everything alright? You didn't circulate an agenda.”

“Three weeks ago,” Gabriel continued, ignoring Evan entirely, “our internal cyber-security detail flagged an unauthorized attempt to access our master holding ledgers from an internal terminal.”

A quiet murmur rippled through the room. Evan set his coffee cup down. The saucer clinked loudly against the china.

“I didn't launch an public investigation,” Gabriel said, walking slowly down the length of the table. “Instead, I left a set of bait documents in the cabinet at my private estate. Eighteen pages outlining what appeared to be our entire financial architecture. In reality, those pages contain hardcoded errors designed to trigger federal financial audits if brought to the United States Attorney.”

Evan’s jaw tightened. A faint bead of sweat formed near his temple, invisible to anyone but Gabriel.

“Yesterday afternoon,” Gabriel said, stopping right behind Evan’s chair, placing a hand lightly on his former brother’s shoulder, “someone bit the hook. The cabinet was breached. The decoy files were taken.”

Evan went entirely still under Gabriel’s grip. Gabriel felt the muscle in Evan’s shoulder go rigid as iron.

“Do we know who took them?” asked Arthur Vance, the chief legal counsel.

“Not yet,” Gabriel lied smoothly, his fingers tightening just a fraction on Evan’s shoulder—enough to convey immense physical presence without drawing notice from the board. “But whoever took them thinks they have us by the throat. What they don't know is that the actual restructuring files—the ones that permanently transfer our port operations to an unassailable public trust—are locked in the mechanical safe at our South Side Rail Maintenance Facility.”

Gabriel looked around the room. “I will be personally retrieving those documents tonight at midnight, accompanied by our master audit team. Once those files are signed tomorrow morning, our old contractors—including Frank Moretti’s logistics shell companies—will be permanently cut out of our supply chain. Forever.”

Gabriel released Evan’s shoulder and walked back to the head of the table.

“That is all, gentlemen. Return to your divisions. Evan... stay behind for a moment.”

The executives shuffled out quickly, sensing the rising storm. As the heavy oak doors clicked shut, only Gabriel and Evan remained in the vast glass room.

Evan didn't turn around immediately. He stared out the window at the snow falling over Wacker Drive.

“You didn't tell me about the breach, Gabriel,” Evan said, his voice flat, stripped of its usual warmth.

“I didn't tell anyone,” Gabriel replied, stepping up beside him. “I needed to see how the rat would move.”

Evan turned his head. For a brief second, his eyes met Gabriel’s, and in that split second, the mask dropped. Evan knew. He knew that Gabriel knew. The air in the room became charged with lethal electricity.

“Are you sure it’s wise to go to the South Side depot at midnight?” Evan asked, his tone dangerously neutral. “It’s a whiteout storm. The security detail down there is thin.”

“I’m not afraid of the cold, Evan,” Gabriel said quietly. “And I’m certainly not afraid of rats. I’ve been killing them my whole life.”

Evan offered a small, cold smile. “Right. Of course.”

“I’ll see you at the depot tonight,” Gabriel said, turning toward the door. “Don't be late, Evan. You’re my right hand. I need you there when we seal the deal.”

As Gabriel stepped out into the hallway, he pulled out his phone.

A notification flashed on the screen: Encrypted call intercepted from E. Cross to N. Pierce.

Gabriel put his earpiece in.

Evan’s voice rasped through the speaker, urgent and hysterical: “Change of plans! The file you took is a dummy! The real ledgers are at the South Side depot in the mechanical safe. Call Moretti! Tell him to bring every shooter he has to the depot tonight at eleven-thirty. We kill Gabriel there, open the safe, and burn the building to the ground!”