Chapter 13 - The Setup
The next morning, the entire city of Chicago woke up to an absolute, highly coordinated media nightmare.
Every major news channel was aggressively reporting a massive federal raid on three of Vincent’s completely legitimate charity organizations.
I stared at the massive television screen in our living room in pure, unadulterated horror as FBI agents carried boxes of evidence out of our buildings.
"They are claiming we used the children's hospital fund to secretly launder millions of dollars in illegal weapons," I whispered, utterly paralyzed by shock.
Vincent was pacing aggressively across the expensive hardwood floor, speaking frantically and furiously into his encrypted cell phone.
"Marcus Romano is brilliantly framing me to force the federal government to do his dirty work," Vincent growled, ending the call and throwing his phone onto the sofa.
"He secretly planted fake, highly toxic financial ledgers in our charity servers to trigger an immediate federal investigation."
I walked over to him, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist to ground him in the chaotic, terrifying moment.
"How do we completely prove our absolute innocence before the FBI freezes all of our corporate assets?" I asked desperately.
"We urgently need to find Marcus’s real, physical ledgers that completely detail his massive extortion and framing operations," Vincent explained, running a frustrated hand through his dark hair.
"But he is a complete ghost, and he guards his physical documents with an army of highly trained mercenaries."
I suddenly remembered a crucial, highly valuable piece of information I had learned during my long years working as a waitress in high society.
"Marcus Romano is hosting an exclusive, high-stakes underground poker tournament tonight at the old Continental Hotel," I said, my mind racing with a brilliant, dangerous plan.
Vincent looked at me in absolute, profound surprise, completely taken aback by my sudden, highly accurate underworld knowledge.
"Tyler used to aggressively beg his rich friends for invitations to that specific, highly illegal game," I explained quickly, my confidence rapidly growing.
"If Marcus is personally hosting it, his private financial briefcase will definitely be locked inside the hotel's main security vault."
Vincent’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, completely realizing exactly what I was dangerously proposing we do.
"I am absolutely not letting you walk into a den of ruthless killers just to steal a heavily guarded briefcase, Emily," he protested firmly.
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"You are currently the most wanted man in Chicago, Vincent," I gently reminded him, placing my hands squarely on his chest.
"They will never suspect the innocent, former waitress to completely rob them blind while they are playing cards."
