Chapter 20 - The Midnight Summons
Ten o'clock that evening, the penthouse was quiet once more.
The news networks were running non-stop coverage of the Vance family’s catastrophic downfall.
Julian and Helena Vance were in federal custody without bail.
The Mercer Maritime stock had rebounded to an all-time high, cementing Evelyn as the undisputed sovereign of Midwestern trade.
Vanessa Quinn had been transferred to a witness protection safehouse in northern Michigan to await her grand jury testimony.
Richard entered the library, carrying a single glass of vintage port for Evelyn.
"The Department of Justice has confirmed Dominic’s transfer back to maximum security," Richard reported quietly.
"His perjury charges will add another fifteen years to his sentence."
"He will never see the outside of a cell again, Evelyn."
Evelyn stood at the balcony window, gazing out over the dark expanse of Lake Michigan.
"It is finally over, Richard."
"The Mercer name is clean."
"My father can rest."
"You fought brilliantly, little bird," Richard smiled gently.
"Your father would be prouder than words could ever describe."
Suddenly, the private red telephone on the corner desk—an unlisted, analog landline that had belonged strictly to William Mercer—began to ring.
The sound was jarring, an abrasive mechanical bell echoing through the luxury penthouse.
Richard froze.
His glass nearly slipped from his fingers.
Evelyn turned around slowly, her heart skipping a violent beat.
That line had been disconnected twenty years ago.
It had only one linked destination: an encrypted emergency relay inside the private vault beneath the Mercer family mausoleum at Graceland Cemetery.
"Richard..." Evelyn whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Who has that number?"
"No one living," Richard answered, his hand instinctively reaching for his firearm.
"The cables were cut the day your father was buried."
The mechanical ring continued to scream against the silence of the room.
One.
Two.
Three rings.
Evelyn took slow, measured steps toward the desk.
"Don't touch it, Evelyn," Richard warned, stepping between her and the desk.
"Let me trace the relay."
"It cannot be traced," Evelyn murmured, transfixed by the pulsing red light on the antique receiver.
"My father told me before he died: if this phone ever rings, it means the grave has been opened."
She gently pushed Richard’s arm aside.
With steady, deliberate fingers, Evelyn lifted the heavy receiver and brought it to her ear.
"Speak," she said, her voice firm despite the chill creeping down her spine.
There was a long hiss of static on the line, followed by the faint sound of heavy, rhythmic breathing.
Then, a raspy, familiar voice came through the speaker—a voice that had not been heard in over three decades.
"Evelyn, my darling child..."
"You should not have signed the compact."
"Dominic was not working for Julian Vance."
"He was working for me."
May you like
The line clicked dead.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, every light along the Chicago shoreline abruptly plunged into total, suffocating darkness.
