Chapter 6 - The Architect of Shadows
By Thursday morning, the city was draped in autumn gold and gray rain.
In the VIP terminal of O’Hare International Airport, a private Gulfstream jet touched down on the slick tarmac. Ten minutes later, Scarlett Montgomery walked through the private customs lounge, swathed in an ankle-length white cashmere trench coat, her oversized dark sunglasses resting on the bridge of her surgically sculpted nose.
I knew this because Gary Simmons was sitting in an unmarked van outside the terminal, feeding the live surveillance feed directly to Julian Thorne’s laptop in the basement studio.
“She’s alone,” Julian said, leaning over the screen, a stylus between his fingers. “Her father arrives tomorrow morning on the corporate jet from New York with the bank syndicate. That gives us thirty-six hours.”
I sat on the edge of the rehearsal bench, winding fresh elastic around my pointe shoes.
My mother’s voice had called me three times this morning. My father had gone to the local hardware store and bought three rolls of crepe paper in gold and red to decorate the garage studio for my "victory party." They had already bought tickets to the balcony of the Grand Opera House with money they had saved from Dad’s overtime shifts.
They didn't know they were walking into a war zone.
“Julian,” I said, pulling the needle through the satin ribbon. “Mason called Gary this morning.”
Julian looked up from the screen. “What did he want?”
“He wanted to know if Gary had any more copies of the civic hall audio,” I said. “Mason is getting cold feet. He offered Gary twenty thousand dollars to delete every trace of the digital logs and leave the state before Friday night.”
“And what did Gary say?”
“He told Mason what I instructed him to say,” I replied, tying off the thread with a sharp tug. “He told him the files weren't on his machine. He told him the files were uploaded to an automated server set to trigger during the gala broadcast.”
Julian chuckled—a dark, rumbling sound. “You’re driving them insane from the inside out.”
“They spent three years driving me insane,” I said, standing up and sliding my feet into the shoes. I rose effortlessly onto the box of my toes, feeling the cold strength running through my shins, my knees, my hips. “They made me believe I was crazy. They made me believe I was paranoid, ungrateful, defective, unlovable. They made me apologize to Brendan while he was holding the knife that stabbed me.”
I walked toward the full-length mirror.
In the glass, I didn't see the frightened girl who had sprinted through the rain in an empty parking lot searching for a ten-dollar bracelet. I didn't see the exhausted student crying outside the dean’s office while her graduation began without her.
I saw a dancer who had reclaimed her stage.
“What is Scheme Ninety-Eight?” Julian asked quietly.
“Brendan picked it out this morning,” I said. “He thinks he’s being clever. He told me he hired a luxury couture house to sponsor my gown for the Gala performance. He said a bespoke white silk unitard with gold embroidery was being delivered to my dressing room tomorrow afternoon.”
“And the trap?”
“The fabric is treated with a concentrated caustic dye-fixative on the inner seams,” I said, reciting the chemical name I had found in Brendan’s search history on his laptop last night. “Within five minutes under stage lights, the heat activates the chemical. It causes contact dermatitis—severe chemical burning and hives across sixty percent of the torso. I would tear the costume off on live television, screaming, clawing at my own skin.”
Julian’s face went dead, his eyes flashing with a terrifying, protective fury. “That isn't a prank, Chloe. That is felony assault.”
“I know,” I said softly. “And that’s why Scheme Ninety-Eight isn't going to happen to me.”
“Who is wearing the suit, Chloe?”
I looked at Julian through the mirror, the cold smile touching my lips once more.
May you like
“Scarlett Montgomery is very particular about her fittings,” I murmured. “And Gary’s sister happens to be the head seamstress at the boutique Brendan used to place the order.”
***
