Chapter 4 - The Heist at the Depot
At 10:00 PM that evening, a cold fog rolled off Lake Michigan, wrapping the industrial streets of the West Side in a thick, white blanket.
A sleek black SUV pulled to a quiet stop down the alleyway from the Westside Catering Depot. The building was a dreary concrete warehouse with rusted corrugated doors and flickering yellow security lights.
Inside the SUV, Marco sat in the rear passenger seat alongside Marcus, his chief of security, while Sarah sat across from them, wearing dark jeans, a black jacket, and a baseball cap.
"The night security guard is an older man named Carl," Sarah explained, pointing through the tinted window toward the small guard shack near the gate. "He sleeps from ten to midnight. The lockbox is in Gary’s second-floor office behind the metal filing cabinet."
"My team can breach the lock in three minutes," Marcus said, checking his tactical tablet. "We have the security feeds jammed for the next twenty minutes."
"I'm coming with you," Marco said firmly, reaching for his coat.
"Marco, no," Sarah protested, touching his arm. "If Gary or Castaglione's men show up, you're the most recognizable billionaire in Chicago. Let me go with Marcus. I know the layout of the office blindfolded."
Marco looked into her eyes. He saw no fear—only the fierce, protective determination of a woman fighting for her future and her son's security.
"Five minutes, Sarah," Marco instructed, his voice thick with concern. "If anything feels wrong, you step out immediately. Marcus, protect her with your life."
"On my word, Boss," Marcus nodded.
Thirty seconds later, Sarah and Marcus slipped through the rusted chain-link fence, moving like shadows through the heavy fog. They reached the side service door of the warehouse. Sarah pulled out a small set of master keys she had kept from her time as line supervisor and quietly unlocked the steel door.
The interior of the warehouse smelled of damp cardboard, diesel fuel, and old onions. High overhead, the sodium lights buzzed softly.
Moving quickly and silently, Sarah led Marcus up a narrow metal staircase to the second-floor mezzanine where Gary’s office sat overlooking the floor.
She pushed open the office door. The room was a disaster—piles of paper covered the desk, empty beer cans lined the windowsill, and an old mini-fridge hummed loudly in the corner.
Sarah walked directly behind the heavy metal filing cabinet. She dropped to her knees, pulled away a loose piece of baseboard molding, and exposed a small, heavy steel lockbox bolted to the concrete floor.
"This is it," Sarah whispered. "The combination is the date Gary's dad opened the warehouse: 0-4-1-2."
Marcus crouched down, entered the digits, and turned the heavy dial.
Click.
The steel door swung open. Inside lay three thick, black-bound ledgers stamped with the logo of Castaglione Enterprises, along with stacks of uncashed cashier's checks made out to Gary Vance.
"Bingo," Marcus breathed, pulling the ledgers out and stuffing them into a dark canvas duffel bag. "This is enough to put Castaglione and Gary behind bars for enterprise corruption."
Suddenly, the heavy metal door of the warehouse downstairs slammed open!
"Check the second floor!" a loud, coarse voice echoed across the empty warehouse floor. "Castaglione said Sarah might try to get her hands on the books! Search every office!"
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Sarah’s blood ran cold.
She looked through the glass window of the office. Standing on the floor below were four heavily built men in dark coats—and leading them, carrying a steel crowbar, was her ex-husband, Jimmy Vance!
