Chicago's premiere nightclub.
Where fortunes rise with the opening bell and fall faster than a curse. Behind the marble façade, men gamble with corn, steel, and whispers pulled from the Veil.
A concrete cathedral of commerce, swallowing shipments, secrets, and souls by the crate. Its loading docks run deeper than they should, and not all elevators reach the same floors twice.
A temple to transit and parting goodbyes, dressed in stone and echo. The trains run on time—but some passengers don’t exist on any manifest.
