Chapter 156 - The Deluge of River Lock 9
Marco didn't fire at the men. His suppressed sidearm whipped downward, targeting a cluster of rusted, yellow-painted pneumatic valves bolted to the heavy concrete conduit ten yards to their right.
*Crack! Crack! Crack!*
The high-caliber rounds shattered the corroded pressure seals of River Lock 9—a secondary diversion line connected directly to the Chicago River's icy depths above.
A deafening groan of tortured iron shrieked through the tunnel. The massive circular steel valve fractured under the immense hydraulic pressure of millions of gallons of river water. With the roar of an enraged beast, a wall of black, freezing water exploded out of the conduit, blasting concrete debris across the cavern floor.
"Move!" Vincent roared, grabbing Emma’s arm and dragging her backward into the service corridor just as the shockwave of water slammed into the main tunnel.
Arthur’s elite operatives opened fire, but their rounds were swallowed by the roaring torrent. The water hit the trip-mines, detonating them in a chain of muffled underwater concussions that tore the brick floor apart and threw a curtain of blinding mud, steam, and shrapnel into the air.
Arthur was knocked off his feet by the initial surge, his ebony cane torn from his grip, his men frantically scrambling through the rising flood to haul their elderly master toward the elevated emergency stairs on the opposite wall.
"Up! Get to the secondary catwalk!" Marco yelled, wading through knee-deep freezing water that was rising by inches every second.
Vincent and Emma lunged for the iron ladder of the southern utility shaft. Emma climbed with ruthless efficiency, adrenaline burning away the cold shock of the river water. Behind them, the tunnel transformed into a raging subterranean river, sweeping away debris, ammunition crates, and the remnants of the ambush.
They reached the upper maintenance platform twenty feet above the deluge, panting, soaked, and shivering in the damp, freezing draft.
Emma leaned against the rusted iron railing, her chest heaving, water dripping from her dark hair onto the concrete. She looked at Vincent. The distance between them, usually invisible, suddenly felt vast and chilling.
"You knew," she said, her voice shaking not from the cold, but from the betrayal of silence. "When we were standing in the foundry ruins in Gary... when you told me that we were fighting for the future of the city... you already knew your family crushed mine."
Vincent stepped toward her, his face pale under the grime and river silt, his eyes carrying an intensity that bordered on torment. "I found the Calumet dossier the night after we survived the pier. I swore to myself that once Bennett and the Van Dorns were buried, I would transfer the entire industrial land trust back to your family's name. Every acre. Every dollar of profit extracted over three decades."
May you like
"I don't care about the money, Vincent!" she snapped, stepping back, her hand tightening around the grip of her pistol. "I cared about the truth! You treated me like an outsider who needed to be protected from reality!"
"I was protecting you from him!" Vincent roared, pointing down at the churning water where Arthur had vanished. "Because Arthur doesn't just destroy lives—he poisons the blood. He wants you to hate me so that when he offers you a seat at his table, you take it!"
