PART 1: The Red Light on Michigan Avenue
The climate control inside the armored Cadillac Escalade was set to a perfect 72 degrees Fahrenheit. Outside, Chicago was being battered by a brutal February blizzard. The wind chill was ten below zero, turning the city into a frozen wasteland of gray slush and biting wind.
Marcus Blackwood, the 42-year-old CEO of Blackwood Holdings and one of the most feared men on Wall Street, didn’t notice the cold. He was too busy reviewing the quarterly projections on his iPad. His life was a series of numbers, margins, and hostile takeovers. He had built an empire on a foundation of ice, much like the city outside his window.
“Sir, traffic is gridlocked on the Magnificent Mile due to a protest,” said Frank, his driver and head of security for the last decade. “We’ll have to cut through the Lower Wacker Drive and take the side streets to get to the charity gala.”
Marcus didn’t look up. “Just get me there, Frank. The Japanese investors value punctuality above all else. I don’t care how you do it.”
The massive black SUV turned smoothly, leaving the glittering lights of the high-end boutiques and entering the darker, grittier underbelly of the city. Here, the snow wasn’t white; it was brown and stained with the exhaust of city buses.
They reached an intersection near a homeless shelter. The light turned red.
Marcus sighed, rubbing his temples. He locked his tablet and glanced out the tinted window, annoyed by the delay.
