He signed the second copy, then the third.

With each stroke of the pen, the empire his family had built over three decades evaporated into the quiet Chicago night.

Agent Miller took the signed documents and blew on the wet ink before sliding them into his briefcase.

“You have seventy-two hours to report to the federal marshal’s office,” Miller said. “Do not leave the state.”

“I understand,” Marcus said.

Miller nodded once, looked at me, and then left the room with his remaining men.

The office felt incredibly empty now.

Vance stood by the window, watching the federal vehicles navigate the snowy driveway below.

“It is over, Marcus,” Vance said. “Detroit has already begun taking over the docks.”

“Let them have it,” Marcus said.

He stood up from his chair, his movements looking heavier, older than they had an hour ago.

He walked over to the window and looked out at the falling snow.

“I need to pack,” Luca said, his voice hollow. “I should go to the condo.”

“Go,” Marcus said, not turning around.