The Siege Begins

The SUV fishtailed on the wet asphalt, tires screaming against the slick city streets. Elena braced herself against the dashboard, clutching the ledger and the file to her chest as if they were a life raft in a hurricane. Marcus spun the wheel, correcting the skid with a grunt of effort.

Behind them, the three sedans mirrored their movement, a synchronized pack of wolves closing in.

"Where are we going?" Elena shouted over the roar of the engine.

"The bridge," Marcus said, his eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror. "The 59th Street Bridge. It's the only way out of the city without hitting a checkpoint."

"They have checkpoints?"

"The Governor declared a state of emergency," Marcus said. "Riots downtown. Or so he says. It's a smokescreen to lock the city down."

Elena looked at the file in her lap. Halloway wasn't just a corrupt politician. He was a tyrant. And he was using the city's own infrastructure to hunt them.

A bullet shattered the back window, showering them in safety glass.

Elena screamed, ducking low. "They're shooting!"

"Stay down!" Marcus yelled. He swerved hard to the right, cutting across three lanes of traffic. Horns blared. Tires screeched.

They careened into a side street, narrow and lined with delivery trucks. The SUV bounced over potholes, the suspension groaning.

"We can't outrun them," Elena said, looking back. The sedans were still there, relentless.

"We don't have to," Marcus said. "We just have to outsmart them."

He slammed on the brakes.

The SUV skidded to a halt in front of a construction site. Scaffolding rose high into the gray sky, a skeleton of steel and mesh.

"Get out," Marcus ordered.

"What?"

"The car is a target," he said. "We're going on foot."

He grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the vehicle. They ran toward the scaffolding.

Behind them, the sedans screeched to a stop. Men in dark suits poured out, weapons drawn.

"Go up!" Marcus shouted, pushing her toward the ladder.

Elena climbed. Her hands were raw, her muscles burning, but terror fueled her. She scrambled up the metal rungs, higher and higher, leaving the street level behind.

Marcus followed, his breathing ragged.

Below, the men were shouting orders. A bullet sparked against the metal rail next to Elena's hand.

She didn't stop. She reached the first platform, then the second. They were three stories up now.

"The roof," Marcus gasped, pointing to the top of the adjacent building. "We can cross over."

They reached the top of the scaffolding. A narrow plank connected the steel frame to the brick roof of an old tenement building.

It was wet. Slick. And it looked about as sturdy as a toothpick.

"Go," Marcus said.

Elena stepped onto the plank. It bowed under her weight. She kept her eyes on the roof, refusing to look down at the alleyway three stories below.

She made it across. She turned to help Marcus.

But he didn't follow.

He stood on the scaffolding, looking down at the street.

"What are you doing?" Elena screamed. "Come on!"

"They're coming up," Marcus said. "Someone has to slow them down."

He pulled a gun from his waistband. Not Sarah's gun. A different one.

"Marcus, no!"

"You have the proof, Elena," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "You're the only one who matters."

He shot the plank.

The wood splintered and fell, crashing into the alley below. The gap between them was now ten feet of empty air.

"Go!" Marcus shouted. He turned back to the ladder, raising his weapon.

Elena stared at him. The man who had cared for her father. The man who had saved her life.

She turned and ran across the roof.

She didn't look back when the gunfire started.

She ran until her lungs burned, jumping from roof to roof, navigating the maze of chimneys and vents. She was alone again. Just her and the ledger.

She reached the fire escape of a building on the next block. She climbed down, her movements mechanical, numb.

She hit the street. It was quiet here. No sirens. No gunshots. Just the distant hum of the city.

She needed to get to the Tribune. To the journalist.

She checked her pockets for her phone.

It was gone.

She must have dropped it in the car. Or on the roof.

She cursed. She had the number memorized, but she needed a phone.

She looked around. A payphone stood on the corner, a relic of a bygone era.

She ran to it. She lifted the receiver.

Dead. No dial tone.

She slammed it down.

"Looking for this?"

Elena spun around.

Standing under the awning of a bodega was a woman. She was wearing a trench coat and a wide-brimmed hat.

She held up a phone. Elena's phone.

It was Sarah.

But she wasn't alone.

Standing next to her, looking pale and shaken, was Julian.

He was holding the decoy ledger.

"We need to talk, Elena," Sarah said. "Family meeting."

Elena looked at them. Her twin sister. Her step-brother.

They weren't enemies anymore. They were survivors.

"You have the real book," Julian said, his voice quiet. "Don't you?"

Elena nodded.

"Good," Sarah said. "Because Halloway just put a bounty on all of us. Five million dollars. Dead or alive."

She tossed the phone to Elena.

"Call the journalist," Sarah said. "Tell her we're coming in."

"We?" Elena asked.

"We," Julian said. He pulled a gun from his coat pocket. "We're going to get you into that building, Elena. Even if we have to burn the city down to do it."