Chapter 5 - THE WEDDING WITHOUT A BRIDE
Friday evening, six hundred guests filled the Grand Marquette Hotel ballroom.
Crystal chandeliers.
White orchids.
Champagne.
Cameras.
Chicago’s most respectable people pretending not to know what my organization actually did.
Patrick Sloane arrived at seven.
Camille at seven-fifteen.
Arthur at seven-twenty.
Elias Grant never entered the building.
He waited outside.
Exactly where the federal surveillance team expected.
Jack and Rosie were not there.
Camille thought they were staying at my penthouse with Naomi.
In reality, they were already three states away at a secure location with Dr. Walsh and two federal marshals.
Naomi remained beside me.
Officially, she was supervising staff.
Unofficially, she wore a wire.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Your tie is crooked.”
“I run a criminal organization.”
“And apparently none of them can tie a Windsor.”
She fixed it.
For one strange second, Isabella flashed through my mind.
She used to insult my ties too.
Naomi stepped back.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I frowned.
“Good?”
“Men like you get dangerous when you think you’re okay.”
Fair.
At eight-thirty, Patrick raised a glass.
“To family.”
I almost choked.
Camille stood beside me.
Perfect smile.
Arthur carried a leather portfolio.
At nine-ten, he whispered:
“One last document.”
“Now?”
“Before the announcement.”
I followed him into a private lounge.
Camille came too.
Patrick entered after us.
Four people.
One table.
A federal microphone hidden inside my cufflink.
Arthur opened the portfolio.
Revised guardianship acknowledgment.
He pointed.
“Initial here.”
I did.
Wrong initials.
Deliberately subtle.
Arthur didn’t notice.
Camille smiled.
Patrick looked relieved.
Then he said:
“After tonight, we stop worrying.”
I looked at him.
“About what?”
He recovered.
“The merger.”
“What merger?”
Arthur froze.
Patrick laughed.
“Future conversation.”
I smiled.
“Of course.”
At 10:14, Camille kissed me for the cameras.
At 10:28, I left.
Alone.
That was the plan.
My armored sedan headed south.
Nico drove.
Federal surveillance followed at distance.
At 10:41, a black Suburban appeared behind us.
“Company,” Nico said.
“I see it.”
The Suburban accelerated.
Another vehicle entered from an alley.
Blocked our route.
Nico hit the brakes.
Three men exited.
Masks.
Rifles.
Elias Grant was one of them.
Everything inside me wanted to respond the old way.
Gun.
Movement.
Violence.
Instead, Nico and I stayed down.
Because twenty armed federal agents were already moving.
Flashbang.
Shouts.
Gunfire.
Two shots.
Then chaos.
Grant tried to flee.
Captured.
Another man surrendered.
The third was wounded.
I never fired.
That mattered more to me than anyone else understood.
At the gala, Patrick received a call.
Federal audio captured him.
“What do you mean they missed?”
Camille turned.
“What happened?”
Arthur whispered:
“We leave.”
Too late.
Agents entered the ballroom.
Not quietly.
Guests screamed.
Phones appeared.
Patrick Sloane was arrested in front of three senators, a governor’s chief of staff and half of Chicago society.
He hated that more than the handcuffs.
Arthur ran.
Literally.
A sixty-two-year-old attorney in Italian shoes sprinting through a hotel kitchen.
He made it three blocks.
Camille did not run.
She stood beneath the chandelier.
Calm.
When Agent Park approached, Camille smiled.
“You have nothing.”
Park replied:
“We have eleven weeks of video.”
Camille’s face changed.
“And your father discussing a murder attempt.”
Another change.
“And Arthur’s messages.”
Silence.
“Turn around.”
Camille looked at Naomi.
“You.”
Naomi’s expression did not move.
Camille laughed softly.
“The maid.”
Naomi said:
“The housekeeper.”
Then:
“And the woman who actually watched those children.”
Camille turned toward me as agents cuffed her.
She expected rage.
She wanted it even then.
“You think they’ll forgive you?” she asked.
I said nothing.
“You left them with me.”
That landed.
“You chose business.”
Still nothing.
“I only used what you gave me.”
My jaw tightened.
Because there was truth in it.
Not innocence.
Truth.
Camille abused them.
I had abandoned enough space for her to do it.
Agent Park led her away.
Naomi stood beside me.
“You did it.”
“No.”
I looked around the destroyed engagement gala.
“I didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“My children are still afraid of me.”
She said nothing.
“That’s the part nobody arrested tonight.”
I left before the press conference.
May you like
For once, the empire could wait.
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