Chapter 6 - The Michigan Avenue Heist
The blizzard of January 2026 was in full swing when the three black SUVs crossed the city limits of Chicago. The snow fell in heavy, blinding sheets, draping the skyscrapers of the Loop in a thick, white shroud.
Dmitry had set up a temporary command post in a penthouse suite at the Peninsula Hotel, just block away from the Chase Bank.
"The bank is under surveillance," Lev reported, displaying a digital map of Michigan Avenue on a tablet. "Both FBI agents and remaining Ivanov enforcers are watching the entrance. The moment Sofía enters the lobby, she will be arrested or shot."
Sofía, dressed in a thick black wool coat and a dark beanie to hide her bruised face, stared at the screen. "Then how do we get the drive?"
"We don't go through the front door," Dmitry said. He was looking at the architectural blueprints of the bank building. "The Chase branch shares a basement wall with the luxury boutique next door, which is currently undergoing renovation. My construction company is managing that renovation."
Sofía looked at him, amazed. "You planned for this?"
"I own the block, Sofía," Dmitry said simply. "I always plan for structural contingencies."
Two hours later, Sofía found herself in the dusty, plastic-draped interior of an empty retail space next to the bank. The sound of jackhammers from the street masked the low, rhythmic drilling of Dmitry’s crew as they bored a precise hole through the brick-and-concrete basement wall.
Lev held a flashlight as the final block of concrete was pushed out, revealing the sterile, stainless-steel interior of the bank’s secure vault room.
"You have five minutes," Lev said, offering Sofía a hand to help her through the opening. "The security sensors for this wall have been looped, but the physical motion detectors in the vault will reset in three hundred seconds."
Sofía crawled through the hole, her heart thumping against her ribs. The air inside the vault was cold and smelled of ozone. She ran her fingers along the rows of silver safety deposit boxes until she found number 412.
She pulled the key from her pocket—the key she had kept hidden in her shoe during her entire ordeal—and inserted it. It turned with a satisfying, heavy click.
She pulled the metal box out, opened the lid, and grabbed the small, black encrypted USB drive.
Suddenly, the red lights in the vault began to flash, and a high-pitched siren wailed through the building.
"Motion sensor tripped!" Lev called out through the hole. "We have to go! Now!"
As Sofía turned to scramble back through the hole, the heavy steel door of the vault room hissed open.
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Standing in the doorway, holding a Glock 19, was Agent Miller of the FBI—the man Sofía had trusted, the man she had planned to send the files to before everything fell apart.
"Sofía," Miller said, his face pale but determined. "Drop the drive. You’re coming with me."
