The Helios Tower loomed above downtown like a gilded dagger, its upper floors gleaming with predawn luminescence. Inside, Dominic felt the hush of thick carpet under his feet as he stepped out of the private elevator and into the executive atrium. The contrast to the Underloop was stark: here, glass and steel curved in elegant lines, the air filtered and faintly scented with something expensive and soothing.
Holographic displays along the corridor streamed Helios Corp's latest achievements in silent video: autonomous drones skimming above Lake Michigan to deliver medical supplies, solar farms spanning the ruins of old suburbs, the Helios logo omnipresent, a stylized sun rising over a broken horizon.
Dominic passed through a pair of tall security gates that recognized his implant ID with a soft chime. The AR interface in his right eye automatically brought up a status feed: stock metrics, news highlights, internal alerts. He dismissed it with a thought. Plenty of time to review numbers later; right now Lucas Alaric awaited a debrief, and Lucas did not tolerate delays.
Eva Montrose intercepted Dominic just outside the boardroom doors. She leaned against the smoked-glass wall, tablet in hand, rifling through data. At Dominic's approach, she straightened. In the sharp white light of Helios HQ,
Eva looked every bit the polished corporate operative tailored charcoal suit, auburn hair in a precise twist, and eyes that glinted with quick intelligence. Only Dominic knew how those same eyes could soften with warmth after hours, when the burdens of the day eased for a moment.
"You made it back in one piece," Eva said under her breath, offering a brief half-smile as a greeting. Her voice was low, colored by a faint Southern lilt that only emerged when she was tired or worried. "How did it go?"
Dominic adjusted his cuffs reflexively. "Novak took the bait. His crew will disrupt the rally, as planned."
Eva nodded, relief and concern mingling in the crease between her brows. "Good. Let's hope that's the worst of it. Temple's already on the wires bragging about the rally, how it's a sign of Chicago's democratic spirit. He has no idea what's coming."
Dominic's lips pressed into a thin line. "He'll find out soon enough. And when it all falls apart, he'll have to lean on us to pick up the pieces."
Eva tapped her tablet. "I've prepared a preliminary press statement for Helios, condemning gang violence at the rally and offering technical support to bolster city security. Lucas wants to make sure we're seen as stepping up, but without seeming too orchestrated."
"Damage control before the damage is even done," Dominic said wryly. "Efficient."
"One of us has to be," Eva replied, giving him a pointed look. "Meeting with Ilya was risky, Dom. If something had gone wrong..."
"But it didn't," Dominic cut in, gently but firmly. He appreciated her concern but needed her confidence now, no doubt. "We got what we needed."
Before Eva could respond, the boardroom door slid open with a whisper. A thin man in a charcoal suit stepped out Adams, Lucas's chief of staff. He gave Dominic and Eva a curt nod. "Mr. Alaric will see you now."
Inside, the boardroom was dim, its floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a breathtaking panorama of the Chicago skyline. Dawn was a blue-gray haze to the east, the lake a dark void beyond the twinkling grid of city lights. Lucas Alaric stood with his back to the door, hands clasped behind him as he gazed out at his dominion. The holographic displays on the conference table were turned off, leaving only the gentle glow of recessed lighting around the room's perimeter.
"Father," Dominic greeted as he entered, dispensing with corporate titles in private. Eva hovered a few steps behind, silent for now.
Lucas turned slowly. He was in his early sixties but kept a vigor in his stance that men twenty years younger might envy. There was little doubt this was Dominic's father — he had the same penetrating gray eyes (Lucas's were untouched by augmentation), and the same angular set to his jaw. His hair was steel-gray, immaculately groomed, and he wore a midnight blue suit that probably cost as much as a Chicago cabbie's yearly wage.
"Dominic," Lucas said with a cordial nod. His voice was smooth, a practiced baritone that could comfort shareholders or command soldiers with equal ease. He acknowledged Eva with a fleeting glance. "Ms. Montrose."
Eva smiled politely. "Sir."
Lucas gestured to the table. "Sit, both of you."
Dominic took a seat at the long obsidian-glass table, noting the subtle tension in his father's posture. Lucas only stood at the window when something weighed on his mind.
Lucas remained standing for the moment, arms still at ease behind him. "I trust everything went according to plan with Mr. Novak?"
"Yes," Dominic replied, folding his hands. "Ilya agreed to mobilize his gang at the rally. They'll initiate a disturbance serious enough to disband the protesters. In the chaos, the movement's message gets lost and Mayor Temple's public safety nightmare becomes front-page news."
Lucas's eyes glinted as he considered that. He began a slow pace along the window. "And our involvement?"
"Untraceable," Dominic said. "No direct ties. Novak knows better than to bite the hand that feeds him until we've both gotten what we want."
A faint smile touched Lucas's lips at his son's choice of metaphor. "Spoken like a true pragmatist. But remember, Dominic: gangsters have short memories when it comes to gratitude. Make sure Mr. Novak's compensation is enough to keep him on side until this is finished."
Dominic inclined his head. "Of course."