Chapter 2 - The Shadow of Marcus
I didn't blink. I had spent fifteen years clawing my way up through the brutal, dog-eat-dog world of commercial real estate in Chicago. I had dealt with corrupt city inspectors, union enforcers, and predatory hedge-fund managers who would skin their own mothers for a half-percent dividend increase. A small-time neighborhood thug wasn't going to intimidate me in my own building.
"Your building?" I said, my voice dropping into a dangerous, measured tone. I reached into my coat pocket.
Marcus’s two henchmen instinctively shifted their weight, their hands moving toward their waistbands.
"Careful, rich boy," Marcus warned, his grin fading slightly.
I pulled out my leather wallet, but I didn't take out cash. Instead, I pulled out a heavy metal key card and a black-and-gold business card, tossing the card directly at his chest. It struck his jacket and fell to the floor.
Marcus looked down, frowning, and used the tip of his boot to turn the card face up.
Nathan Hale. Founder & CEO, Hale Global Holdings.
"I bought this entire housing complex three months ago through a subsidiary, Marcus," I said, stepping out of the bedroom and closing the door behind me so Sarah and Lily wouldn't have to see what was coming. "That means every square foot of linoleum you're standing on belongs to me. Which means you are currently trespassing, extortionating my tenants, and standing in the way of a very long prison sentence."
Marcus stared at the card for a second, then let out a sharp, barking laugh.
"You think a piece of paper frightens me, Hale? You think because you own the deed, you run these streets? The cops don't come to this zip code unless someone's already in a body bag. You're in my yard now."
He reached out, trying to grab the lapel of my jacket.
I didn't wait for him to make contact. Years of late-night boxing sessions at an underground gym in South Chicago kicked in automatically. I snatched his wrist, twisted it violently outward, and drove my right elbow directly into his nose.
The crunch of cartilage echoed loudly through the small kitchen.
Marcus shrieked, staggering backward, blood spurting down his front. "Kill him!" he screamed to his men.
The larger of the two henchmen lunged forward, swinging a heavy iron pipe he had pulled from his sleeve. I ducked beneath the blow, the pipe whistling inches above my hair and shattering the front of the ancient refrigerator. Before the man could reset his stance, I drove my shoulder directly into his midsection, slamming him back through the open doorway into the public hallway.
He hit the radiator in the corridor with a heavy THUD and went limp.
The second henchman looked at his partner on the floor, looked at Marcus who was clutching his bleeding face, and then looked at me. I stepped into the doorway, my fists raised, my eyes completely devoid of mercy.
The second man backed away, raising his hands. "I ain't paid enough for this shit," he muttered, turning around and sprinting down the stairs.
"This isn't over, Hale!" Marcus spat, staggering toward the stairwell while smearing blood across his cheek. "You don't know who Sarah owes money to! You think this is just about rent?! She’s marked! Both of them are marked!"
"If I ever see your face within five blocks of this property again," I called out, my voice booming down the concrete stairwell, "I won't call the police. I'll send my personal security team to find you. And they aren't as polite as I am."
I stood in the hall until the sound of Marcus’s heavy, frantic steps faded out onto the street.
My chest was heaving. My knuckles were grazed and bleeding, dripping small red spots onto the sleeve of my white dress shirt.
I wiped my hand on a handkerchief and turned back into Apartment 4B.
Lily was peeking out from behind the bedroom door, her hands clutching her mother's nightgown.
"Is... is he gone?" she asked softly.
"He's gone, Lily," I said, dropping my hands to my sides and forcing my face into the gentlest expression I could manage. "He's never coming back."
I walked into the bedroom, pulled out my encrypted mobile phone, and dialed a number I used only for emergencies.
"Victor?" I said when the call connected on the second ring.
"Yes, Mr. Hale?" replied my head of private security—a former Special Forces operator who managed my estate and corporate safety.
"I need an armored transport, a medical transport unit, and a private medical team at 1412 West Elm Street, Apartment 4B, immediately," I ordered. "I am moving two people to my private residence in Barrington within the hour. And Victor?"
"Sir?"
"Assign a four-man tactical team to secure this building permanently. Anyone who tries to collect 'taxes' or intimidate tenants in this block gets broken. Do you understand me?"
"Understood, Mr. Hale. We are en route."
I ended the call and looked down at Sarah. She was crying softly, her thin hands covering her face.
"Nathan... you can't do this," she sobbed. "You don't know what kind of trouble you're opening your door to. Marcus... he works for someone else. Someone who has been looking for me for seven years."
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I knelt beside her bed, taking her cold, trembling hand in mine.
"I don't care who he works for, Sarah," I whispered, looking from her to little Lily, whose blood-speckled fingers were resting gently on her mother's knee. "Thirty years ago, I was helpless. I watched my mother die because no one came to help us. I am not that little boy anymore. Nobody is hurting you again."
