“U.S. Marshals! Hands where we can see them!”
The bedroom was alive with men shouting orders and brandishing rifles. George and the three men were yanked out of bed and their wrists handcuffed behind them.
George was pulled outside without being allowed to put on any clothes. Someone threw a blanket over him just before he was stuffed into the back of a police car. The driver took off so fast George couldn’t see what happened to the others.
* * * *
George Lattimer, Senior stared out the window of his office in the Prudential Building, his face so close to the glass his breath formed a layer of fog, obscuring his view. In one direction the steel-blue water of Lake Michigan stretched interminably into the distance. While below him, Chicago was decorating for Christmas and as if to set the holiday spirit, the gray weather promised snow.