Chương 6 - The Chase on the Dan Ryan
The downtown traffic on a Tuesday morning was not a flow of vehicles; it was a parking lot made of steel, exhaust, and unmitigated rage.
I vaulted into my black Mercedes CLS, slammed the door, and shoved the ignition button. The twin-turbo V8 roared to life, vibrating through the leather steering wheel. I whipped the gearshift into drive, spun the wheel hard to the left, and rocketed out of the underground parking garage onto LaSalle Street, nearly clipping a delivery van.
My phone was mounted on the dashboard, screen flashing violently.
Dante calling.
I swiped the speaker button with my thumb while aggressively weaving around a stalled city bus. “Talk to me, Dante. Where are they?”
“Boss, calm down,” Dante’s voice crackled through the high-end audio system, laced with professional alarm. “The private hangar at Midway is restricted tarmac. Even with your security clearance, the airfield security will stop a civilian vehicle from breaching the gate. What are you doing?”
“I’m coming to the airport,” I snapped, my eyes locked on a tiny gap between a semi-truck and a battered sedan. I accelerated hard, squeezing through with millimeters to spare.
“Ryan, listen to me!” Dante shouted over the roar of my engine. “Mrs. Sterling’s transport was arranged through the hospital’s emergency medical protocol. Her flight is scheduled for wheels-up in exactly twelve minutes. If you chase her onto the tarmac like a madman, airport police will arrest you before you even reach the jet steps.”
“Let them try,” I snarled, hanging up the phone before he could reply.
I hit the accelerator, throwing my weight into the left lane and merging onto the Dan Ryan Expressway southbound toward Midway. The digital clock on my dash mocked me in glowing red numbers: 8:14 AM.
Eighteen miles to the airfield.
As I pushed the Mercedes past ninety miles per hour, weaving seamlessly through the sea of morning commuters, my mind raced back to the medical risk appendix I had skimmed in my office an hour earlier. Buried deep within Leo’s file was a clinical note I hadn't fully processed until the words started echoing in my skull: Patient requires continuous platelet stabilization; potential future requirement for directed biological donor marrow match.
A donor match.
Grace hadn't just been running from my money or my past arrogance. She had been carrying the terrifying weight of a dying child, knowing that if Leo’s condition deteriorated further, she would eventually have to come back to the one man she despised most in this world—me—just to beg for my bone marrow.
The realization hit me like a physical blow to the chest, nearly making me lose control of the steering wheel on a slick curve.
I was his only match.
I slammed my foot down harder. The engine screamed, pushing past one hundred miles per hour. The Chicago skyline blurred into a streak of grey concrete and steel. I didn't care about the speed cameras. I didn't care about the highway patrol.
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Ten minutes later, the towering chain-link fences of Midway International Airport appeared on the horizon, punctuated by the red-and-white blinking lights of the private aviation sector.
I didn't slow down for the security gate. I aimed the Mercedes straight for the automated access arm, gripped the wheel, and braced for impact.
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