Chapter 24
Chapter 24: The Iron Cage of Memory
By the time the Chicago police cruisers and federal transport vans arrived at the North Shore estate, the storm had begun to die down, leaving behind a cold, suffocating silence. Federal agents escorted a heavily bound, bleeding Preston Whitcomb out of the mansion. There were no reporters this time; there was only the grim reality of a man who had broken the ultimate law of the state and the underground alike.
As they threw him into the back of a heavily armored, windowless transport vehicle, Preston looked back up at the balcony. Enzo and Harper stood there, wrapped in a single, dark wool blanket, their fingers intertwined. Preston’s smile was completely gone, replaced by the hollow, vacant stare of a man who realized his prison was no longer made of brick and mortar—it was made of his own irrelevance.
"He will spend the rest of his life in a supermax medical unit, underground, in absolute isolation," Marco reported, stepping onto the balcony with two cups of black coffee. "The feds are rewriting the security protocols themselves. No visitors. No mail. No light."
Enzo took the coffee, nodding silently, but his eyes remained fixed on the long, black skid marks left by the federal vans in the snow. "And the mercenary group that pulled him out?"
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"We tracked the funding, Boss," Marco’s voice lowered. "It didn't come from Julian, and it didn't come from Preston’s old accounts. It came from an anonymous trust based out of New York. Someone else bought that convoy, Enzo. Someone who wanted Preston out for their own reasons."
Harper looked at her husband, the freshwater pearl bracelet clicking against her wrist in the winter wind. The threat hadn't died with her father; it had merely changed its face.
