The Rogue Breacher

The Rogue Breacher

Author: Tom Hruby & James Pomerantz

From the final chapter of The Breacher’s Playbook…where we left off:

“My condolences on the loss of your son back in 2000. Special Agent Deklan Novak relayed the connection to the Chicago FBI agents working the case today.” SA Goodman began but was interrupted abruptly.

“Andrew was not my son.” Bryce Stanley corrected SA Goodman. Jesse Goodman didn’t know how to respond. Deklan Novak was staring at Bryce Stanley. “Your half-brother was not my son. I do not see how that case is relevant today. The boys were lost more than two decades ago.” Stanley repeated the statement and was aware of Deklan Novak’s well-publicized path from Navy SEAL to local football hero to the FBI. “Your mother’s school will be held responsible for allowing my grandchildren to be kidnapped. I cannot imagine the school will survive much longer.” Bryce Stanley was pointing at Julia Novak.

“Mr. Stanley. Let’s focus on getting the children back today.” Deklan remarked without allowing the anger he felt running through his veins to show up in his tone or his demeanor. “I know the circumstances that brought us here are beyond stressful and the FBI will do everything possible to locate and return the children safely to your family, but do not threaten my mother again. The Starlight Academy and my mother were not responsible for the circumstances today that have brought us here, Mr. Stanley.” Deklan paused and waited for his team to give him their undivided attention.

“You are responsible for what has apparently happened to your grandchildren.” Deklan addressed Stanley directly. “The FBI was able to unseal the settlement from the Paige Novak Greene/Bianco Amato lawsuit against North Suburban University Health Systems and the United Network of Organ Transplants in 1998, brought by your firm, the Stanley Law Group. The case was settled out of court. The actual settlement was much higher than your firm reported to the plaintiffs, my father and Ms. Greene’s family. Your firm had the plaintiffs sign their settlement agreement for the agreed award of $3 million. Unbeknownst to the plaintiffs, NSUHS and UNOT agreed to pay $43 million, in large part to quiet the case and avoid an avalanche of follow-up lawsuits by the anxious waiting organ transplant patients. The money was placed in your firm’s account, but the plaintiffs were told that the amount was $3 million not $43 million. The plaintiffs were told that the $3 million had to be doled out in small monthly installments while the remaining portion of the bogus $3 million award landed in an untouchable annuity that paid minimal monthly interest payments. Your firm informed the clients that the judge allocated the $3 million settlement. A lie. You told the clients that the judge had to sign off on everything and every payment, another lie. You told your clients that various medical debts and liens for Paige Novak Greene and a slew of inflated legal fees for Ms. Greene had to be paid first, another series of lies. The plaintiffs received less than $90,000 of the $43 million settlement.”

“Those documents are protected and sealed.” Bryce Stanley blurted out without thinking.

“Sealed documents can be unsealed if a compelling public interest outweighs the continued confidentiality. In this case, I started the process of unsealing the records after I joined the FBI and was assigned to the Chicago office. Compelling public interest was solving a cold case that involved the missing boys from New Trier High school. Conveniently for the Bureau and most inconveniently for you, Mr. Stanley, the records were unsealed less than a month ago.” Deklan explained.

“Let’s tackle the assumption that the Outfit doesn’t forgive or forget, no matter how many years go by. The Outfit watched you profit tremendously over the years while Bianco Amato died during the civil trial. The Outfit murdered three young men in 2000 because of a lawsuit that triggered a chain of events ending with Bianco Amato’s death. If the FBI can unseal a sealed court document legally, how long do you think it took organized crime to unseal the settlement agreement that awarded you and your firm $43 million? How many federal court employees were bribed or threatened to unseal the settlement agreement back when it was sealed?” Deklan asked rhetorically. “Mr. Stanley, you are solely responsible for the kidnapping of your own two grandchildren.” Novak was uncomfortably close to Bryce Stanley’s space, and no one was about to interrupt the former Navy SEAL and current Special Agent of the FBI, except his immediate colleague supervisor. Special Agent Jesse Goodman pulled aside Special Agent Novak and whispered something in Deklan’s ear.

“The Wilmette Police Department just found the bodies of Hillary Stanley and Brittany Hawn in the basement of the Stanley home. Both women were shot in the head with a Colt M1911 .45. The gun was left at the scene.” SA Goodman backed away from SA Novak slowly.

Hillary Stanley was married to Logan Stanley, Bryce Stanley’s only surviving son, and was the mother of the two kidnapped children, Luca, 2 years-old and Layla, 4 years-old. Hillary was Bryce Stanley’s daughter-in-law. Brittany Hawn was Hillary’s next-door neighbor on Sheridan Road in Wilmette, Illinois. Brittany Hawn was supposed to pick up Luca and Layla from the Starlight Sky Academy, a daycare center in Wilmette, on the morning when the children were kidnapped. Hillary Stanley called the Starlight Sky Academy to inform the school that her neighbor would be picking up the children from school. The neighbor and Hillary were on the school’s approved pickup list. Someone impersonated Hillary Stanley to make the phone call that released the children to the neighbor. Someone impersonated Brittany Hawn and picked up the children. Both women were already dead.

Chapter One

The Tunnel

Deklan Novak waited in the main lobby of the Westin River North Hotel and watched the Chicago River slide past the glass like it had nowhere else to be.

The river moved with practiced indifference, dark and slow, carrying reflections of glass towers and old stone facades that had learned how to coexist without acknowledging one another. Tour boats would be running later in the day, guides rehearsing stories about architecture and rebirth, about how Chicago rebuilt itself after fire and flood and corruption. None of those stories mentioned what stayed buried.

The lobby was designed to calm people. Soft lighting. Polished stone floors. Furniture arranged to suggest leisure rather than urgency. It smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and money. Guests passed through dragging carry-ons, checking phones, speaking quietly into headsets as if sound itself might disturb the illusion of control. No one looked at Deklan long enough to wonder why he wasn’t moving.

He stood with his weight balanced evenly, hands loose at his sides, jacket unbuttoned. His badge was back in his pocket. He didn’t need it out yet. He’d learned over years of interviews, briefings, and confrontations that impatience announced itself before a man ever spoke. Calm unsettled people faster.

Deklan had been told, more than once, that this building no longer mattered. That whatever history once existed beneath it had been sealed, forgotten, and rendered inert by renovation permits and flood mitigation plans. He knew better. Structures endured. Systems hid things. Closure was usually administrative, not physical.

The FBI’s Child Abduction Rapid Deployment team had arrived first, followed by members of Deklan’s Violent Crimes Against Children squad. They’d meet outside in the semicircular drive where bellmen usually hurried to open doors and manage arrivals. No sirens. No tape. No spectacle. Just quiet coordination and clipped conversation.

Time mattered.

Two children had been taken less than twenty-four hours earlier in Wilmette. Luca and Layla Stanley. Siblings. Four and six years old. The kind of case that didn’t allow for hope to stretch comfortably. Hours didn’t pass in these situations, they collapsed.

Deklan checked his watch again, then scanned the lobby. Every minute felt heavier than the last. He wasn’t waiting on criminals. He was waiting on permission.

Movement near the administrative corridor caught his eye. Two men approached, their pace controlled but cautious. One led with a practiced half-smile, already preparing to manage expectations.

“Special Agent Novak?” the taller one asked, extending his hand. “Nick Burrow. General Manager.”

Deklan shook it once. Firm. Brief.

“This is Mark Raiola,” Burrow added, gesturing to the man beside him. “Our building engineer.”

Raiola’s grip was solid, his expression unreadable. No curiosity. No visible concern. Just a measured distance that Deklan recognized immediately. Engineers saw systems the way soldiers did, in terms of failure points.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Deklan said. His tone was neutral. “I need access to any remaining points connected to the old Chicago Tunnel system.”

Burrow didn’t hesitate. That told Deklan more than the words that followed.

“As I explained on the phone, there are no entrances that remain accessible from this building,” Burrow said smoothly. “Any historical access points were sealed decades ago. The structure underwent extensive renovation after the 1992 flood. Everything vulnerable was permanently closed.”

The explanation had been rehearsed. Probably delivered before. Maybe often.

“I don’t have time to debate renovation history,” Deklan said. He kept his voice even. “Two children were abducted yesterday. I have reason to believe they were brought through this building and into the tunnel system.”

Burrow blinked. Just once. A microfracture.

That wasn’t explained to me,” he said quickly. “I was under the impression this was another…”

“Another what?” Deklan asked.

Burrow hesitated, searching for a word that wouldn’t incriminate him. Raiola shifted his weight slightly, eyes flicking toward a security camera mounted above the desk.

“Another request tied to historical speculation,” Burrow said. “Capone. Vaults. That sort of thing. We’ve had inquiries before.”

Deklan took one step closer. Not aggressive. Deliberate.

“If these children are alive,” he said, “and any delay caused by this building contributes to their deaths, I will personally ensure you’re charged with obstruction of a federal investigation. Title 18, section 1510. Five years minimum.” The words settled into the space between them.

Deklan didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t gesture. He simply let the sentence exist, heavy and complete.

“I am not leaving this building,” he continued, “until I have verified whether Luca and Layla Stanley are under it. Ending this meeting here would be a mistake.” For a moment, no one spoke. Burrow swallowed. The smile was gone now.

I wasn’t told the full scope,” he said. “If children are involved…”

“They are,” Deklan said.

Raiola spoke next, his voice lower, steadier.

“There may be sealed access points in the lower mechanical levels,” he said. “They were left in place during construction. Locked. Not operational.”

“Show me,” Deklan said. They moved without further discussion.