I pushed open the heavy fire door at the basement level and walked out into the chilly night air.

A light drizzle was falling, slicking the asphalt of the parking lot.

I walked three blocks away from the hospital before I flagged down a yellow cab.

The driver didn’t look back as I gave him the address.

“The unfinished Apex site on the river,” I said, my voice sounding thin.

He nodded, putting the car in gear.

The city blurred past the rain-streaked window in streaks of yellow and red.

I watched the dark expanse of the river appear to our left, the water black and sluggish.

The Apex Tower loomed in the distance like a jagged tooth against the night sky.

It was seventy stories of exposed steel, concrete slabs, and reflective glass that ended abruptly near the top.

Construction had halted three weeks ago when the first federal subpoenas arrived.

Now, it stood dark and silent, a monument to Ethan’s greed.

The cab pulled up to the perimeter chain-link fence, about fifty yards from the main gate.