Chapter 7 - Cold Calculations
At 6:00 AM, Chicago’s skyline was draped in a cold, slate-gray mist. The Cavalari Building—a thirty-story tower of dark glass and polished steel—stood silent against the dawn.
Dante and Mara entered through the private basement garage, bypassing the main lobby. The building was empty save for the skeleton custodial staff and the night security team, all of whom bowed their heads respectfully as Dante passed.
They took the private elevator down to Sub-Level 3—the server vault.
The air here was freezing, maintained at a strict fifty-five degrees to keep the massive rows of black server racks cool. The hum of hundreds of cooling fans sounded like a distant, roaring waterfall.
Mara pulled a compact diagnostic tablet from her bag and connected it directly to the primary trunk line. Her fingers flew across the glass screen, pulling up thousands of lines of system logs.
Dante stood behind her, his hands resting in the pockets of his heavy wool coat. He looked like a statue carved out of granite, but inside, his mind was racing through the five names of his inner circle.
Geno—his father’s oldest lieutenant, who managed the port operations. Marcus—his legal counsel, who had drafted every corporate structure he owned. Julian—his cousin, who ran the night venues and hospitality assets. Elena—his head of financial clearing, who knew every dollar that entered the state. Finn—who was currently lying on a sofa with a bullet hole in his leg.
“I have it,” Mara said softly.
Dante took a slow breath. “Say it.”
Mara pointed to a line of glowing red text on her tablet. “The proxy node was created four months ago. It was authorized using a master biometric key. A fingerprint and a retina scan.”
She turned the screen toward him.
The name displayed at the top of the authorization log was not Geno, Marcus, Julian, or Elena.
It was Dante Cavalari.
Dante stared at the screen, his mind freezing for a fraction of a second. “That’s impossible. I never authorized a secondary node.”
“I know,” Mara said, her voice dripping with a terrifying clarity. “Which means someone didn't steal your keycard, Dante. Someone cloned your physical biometrics.”
Dante’s hand slowly reached inside his coat, his eyes locking onto Mara’s. “Who has access to my biometric files?”
“Only one medical facility holds your encrypted retina scans and fingerprint data,” Mara said, stepping back from the console, her eyes wide. “The pediatric clinic your foundation funded last year.”
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Dante felt a cold spike of understanding drive straight through his chest. The clinics weren't just a charitable venture. They were managed by a board of directors. And the head of that board was the one person in Chicago he had trusted without reservation for twenty years.
His uncle, Dominic Cavalari.
