Chapter 6 - The Safehouse Protocol
Two hours later, the private medical jet was screaming through the frozen night sky at thirty thousand feet, banking hard toward a secure, unmarked facility in the mountains of Montana.
The private cabin had been converted into an airborne ICU. Dr. Yates, who had insisted on coming along, was frantically monitoring the children's vitals while two combat medics tended to Lawson’s shoulder wound.
Lawson sat in a leather seat near the front of the cabin, a thick bandage wrapped around his shoulder, staring blankly out the window at the endless sea of dark clouds below.
Clara walked up the aisle, holding two cups of black coffee, and handed one to him. Lawson took it, his knuckles bruised and blood-stained.
“They’re resting,” Clara said quietly, sitting across from him. “The medical suite in Montana has clean, uncompromised water filtration systems and a synthesized chelation protocol I helped design before I left Geneva. Within forty-eight hours, we’ll start purging the heavy metal toxins from their blood.”
Lawson looked up, his hazel-eyed rescuer meeting his gaze with unyielding strength.
“You saved their lives,” Lawson said, his voice flat, devoid of its usual arrogant command. “You walked into a fortress, told me my house was poisoned, and then stood beside me in a firefight against Vane’s hit squad. Why?”
Clara took a slow sip of her coffee. “Because when they took my son, nobody stood beside me. I swore that if I ever got a second chance to stop them from destroying another innocent child, I would burn the world down to do it.”
“Crosby Vane is going to pay for this,” Lawson said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying promise. “Every asset he owns, every shell corporation he operates, every breath he takes—I’m going to dismantle it piece by piece until there is nothing left of his syndicate.”
“You won’t have to do it alone,” Clara replied softly. “Because Vane isn’t the head of the snake. He’s just the regional manager for a global syndicate called the Veritas Group. And I happen to have the master ledger of every corporate account they operate.”
Lawson stared at her. The puzzle pieces were finally falling into place. The poisoning, the corporate war, the assassination attempts—it was all part of a massive global conspiracy to seize control of Chicago’s financial and industrial infrastructure.
“Where is the ledger?” Lawson asked.
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“Safe,” Clara said with a faint, grim smile. “In a decentralized digital vault that only opens when my biometric signature matches a secondary key held by someone with absolute power in Chicago.”
Lawson let out a dark, resolute laugh. “Well, Ms. Vance. You’ve certainly come to the right place.”
