Chapter 13 - Sabotage at the Shelter
By Wednesday evening, the battle moved beyond the courtroom and into the streets of Chicago.
I was at the newly opened Haven House—the women's shelter in West Town—helping Sarah organize the intake office. The building was a beautiful, renovated three-story brick structure with state-of-the-art security, designed to offer sanctuary for women escaping financial domestic abuse.
"We already have four women scheduled for intake tomorrow morning, Em," Sarah said, handing me a stack of folder files with a soft smile. "One of them was left with $80,000 in fraudulent debt racked up by her ex-husband. She had nowhere else to turn until Victoria's team stepped in."
"That's why we did this, Sarah," I replied, looking around the bright, sunlit reception area. "To give them back their dignity."
Suddenly, the front door rattled violently. The heavy electronic security locks buzzed erratically, and the lights inside the main hall flickered before cutting out completely. Emergency red backup lights illuminated the hallway.
Sarah gasped, stepping back toward the office desk. "Emily... what was that?"
"Stay here," I instructed, pulling my phone from my pocket.
I walked cautiously down the hallway toward the main electrical panel near the side entrance. Through the glass window of the fire exit, I caught a glimpse of two men in dark hoodies tossing heavy metal canisters into the basement stairwell.
A sharp, acrid stench of diesel fuel began to seep through the door cracks.
"Julian!" I called out into my phone as I dialed his speed dial. "They're at the shelter! Someone is trying to burn the basement!"
"I'm two blocks away, Em! Stay inside and pull the main fire suppression alarm!" Julian’s voice shouted through the speaker.
I didn't panic. I slammed my hand onto the emergency fire alarm button on the wall. High-pitched sirens shrieked through the building, and automatic industrial sprinklers burst to life overhead, drenching the basement stairwell in torrential streams of water before any flame could catch.
Outside, the heavy engine of a black sedan roared to life, tires screeching against the asphalt as the intruders fled into the night.
When Julian burst through the side doors thirty seconds later, weapon drawn, he found me standing in the soaked hallway, drenched in sprinkler water, holding a steel fire extinguisher.
Julian rushed over, taking the extinguisher from my hands and pulling me into a fiercely protective embrace. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"
"I'm fine," I said, breathing heavily against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "They tried to set fire to the basement fuel line. They wanted to destroy the shelter before we could open the doors."
Victoria arrived ten minutes later alongside the Chicago Police Department. As forensic officers marked evidence near the basement door, Victoria picked up a small metal object left near the fire escape—a custom brass key fob stamped with a stylized 'V'.
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"Vanguard Apex," Victoria muttered, her eyes burning with pure fury. "Sterling is getting desperate. He knows the Chancery court hearing on Friday will expose his offshore holdings, so he's trying to break your spirit."
I looked at the water-soaked hall, then out at the city skyline. "He thinks he's dealing with the girl Daniel Walker bullied four years ago," I said, wiping a tear of rain and water from my cheek. "He's about to learn how wrong he is."
