Chapter 9 - The Ghost in the Rain
A year later.
It was an early November evening in Chicago. A cold, sudden downpour had swept over the city, turning the streets into shimmering black mirrors reflecting the yellow glare of taxi headlights.
I stepped out of the private side entrance of the Carter-Vance Logistics tower, protected under a large black umbrella held by Frank, the senior lobby security director.
My private driver, a retired police officer named David, was waiting beside my midnight-blue Bentley Mulsanne, holding the rear door open.
"Thank you, Frank," I said, handing the security director a generous holiday envelope. "Have a wonderful weekend with your grandkids."
"Thank you, Mrs. Carter!" Frank beamed, bowing his head respectfully. "Drive safe in this rain!"
I slid into the plush, heated leather interior of the Bentley. The door closed with a heavy, satisfying vacuum seal, shutting out the roaring noise of the city rain.
As David pulled out into the slow evening traffic along Jackson Boulevard, my eyes drifted toward the sidewalk outside a nearby convenience store.
Huddled under the leaking canvas awning of the store stood a man in a frayed, water-logged wool jacket. He was holding a plastic grocery bag, his shoes worn down at the heels, his shoulders hunched against the biting wind.
He was waiting for the public CTA bus.
The streetlights illuminated his face for three seconds as our Bentley idled at the red light.
It was Greg Vance—Vanessa's older brother, who had lost his home and his job after being implicated as an unindicted co-conspirator in Daniel's offshore shell scam. He was now working sixty hours a week as a warehouse night stocker to pay off his legal defense debts.
Beside him on a wet park bench lay a discarded copy of the Chicago Tribune.
Prominently displayed on the front page of the business section was a full-color photograph of me standing on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, ringing the opening bell for Carter-Vance Logistics' initial public offering.
The headline read in bold, black ink:
THE QUEEN OF LOGISTICS: HOW EMILY CARTER BUILT A $2 BILLION EMPIRE FROM THE ASHES OF SCANDAL.
The man on the sidewalk didn't look up at the luxury Bentley idling six feet away. He was too cold, too tired, and too broken by the rain to notice the woman sitting behind the tinted glass.
The traffic light turned green.
May you like
David pressed gently on the accelerator. The Bentley glided forward effortlessly, its powerful twelve-cylinder engine humming softly, carrying me smoothly through the storm toward my high-rise penthouse in Gold Coast.
I didn't look back at the sidewalk. I pulled my iPad from my leather briefcase, opened my schedule for my upcoming business trip to Tokyo, and took a quiet, deep breath of clean air.
