Chapter 8
The Aqua Tower in downtown Chicago loomed seventy stories above the frozen streets, its glass facade gleaming in the night sky.
On the penthouse level, music thumped loudly through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Michigan.
Julian Vance stood near a mahogany bar, swirling a glass of twenty-year-old scotch while laughing with four high-ranking cartel associates.
"To clean slates," Julian toasted, raising his glass with a arrogant smirk. "The reporter won't be writing any more stories about our shipping lines."
The associates laughed, clinking their glasses together as high-end escorts mingled around the room.
Outside on the private balcony, the winter wind howled at forty miles per hour, swirling heavy snow across the tile floor.
Two armed security guards in suits patrolled the perimeter, holding submachine guns under their heavy winter coats.
Suddenly, a black grappling hook launched over the balcony railing, locking silently onto the steel beam above.
A shadow swung over the glass edge, landing silently on the snowy tiles without making a single sound.
Before the first guard could react, Ethan stepped out of the darkness, grabbing the guard's collar and driving a combat knife straight into the joint of his neck armor.
The guard dropped without a sound, his blood staining the white snow.
The second guard turned around, raising his MP5, but Ethan closed the distance instantly.
Ethan disarmed the guard with a swift wrist lock, snapping the man's neck with a brutal, practiced twist.
Ethan wiped his blade clean, stepping up to the reinforced glass sliding door that led into the living room.
He attached a small, square charge of thermite explosive to the glass lock mechanism.
May you like
Ethan stepped back, clicking a remote detonator.
A blinding spark of white heat instantly melted the lock, and Ethan kicked the heavy glass door open, stepping into the warm, luxurious penthouse.
