Chapter 7 - Storming Pier 42
The interior of Warehouse B smelled of saltwater, heavy diesel exhaust, and rusted iron. Towering stacks of shipping containers rose toward the vaulted ceiling like metal canyons, casting long, menacing shadows across the concrete floor.
At the far end of the warehouse, inside a glass-walled modular office suspended ten feet above the ground, Viktor Vance and his associates were gathered around a large wooden table spread with maritime shipping manifests.
Marcus signaled the breaching team. Two tactical operators moved up silently beside the heavy steel side door of the office.
"On my mark," Marcus whispered into the comms. "Three... two... one... breach!"
Bang!
The heavy steel door blew inward with a deafening crash, ripped off its hinges by a precision explosive charge. Flashbang grenades sailed into the room instantly, detonating with blinding white light and a thunderous roar that shook the glass partitions.
"Federal—no, Russo! Drop your weapons!" Marcus roared, leading the tactical assault team into the office.
Total chaos erupted inside the glass-walled room.
The corrupt port directors screamed, diving under the table in sheer terror. Vance’s personal bodyguards scrambled for their weapons, but Dominic’s team was faster, dropping two of them with precise, non-lethal leg shots before they could raise their barrels.
Viktor Vance—a tall, heavily built man with a scarred cheek and cold, reptilian eyes—reacted with ruthless survival instinct. Instead of surrendering, he shoved one of the port directors into the path of the advancing team, drew a suppressed pistol from his shoulder holster, and dived behind a heavy filing cabinet.
"Russo!" Vance screamed, firing blindly through the broken glass partition. Bullets pinged off the metal doorframe, showering sparks over the floor.
"Vance!" Dominic shouted over the gunfire, stepping calmly into the doorway of the office, his SIG Sauer tracking the target with lethal precision. "Your game is over. Constantine’s empire has fallen, and your ledger is in our hands."
Vance peeked around the filing cabinet, his face twisted in rage and disbelief. "You think a little book can stop me? I'll—"
Before Vance could finish his threat, Marcus flanked the filing cabinet from the blind side, kicked the heavy metal structure with boots reinforced with steel, and sent it crashing down on top of Vance’s arm.
Vance let out a sharp cry of pain as his pistol clattered across the concrete floor.
Marcus lunged forward, pinning Vance face-down to the floor with a knee pressed firmly into his spine, snapping steel handcuffs tightly around his wrists.
I stepped slowly through the shattered glass doorway of the office, my boots crunching on the debris. The air was thick with smoke and the metallic tang of fear.
Viktor Vance lifted his head, his scarred face grimacing in agony and humiliation as he looked up at me standing over him in the tactical vest.
"Who the hell are you?" Vance spat, blood trickling from a cut on his lip.
I knelt down slowly until I was eye-level with the man who had ordered my father's assassination twelve years ago in Marseille.
"My name is Amelia Reed," I said, my voice ice-cold and steady. "Dr. Julian Reed’s daughter."
Vance’s eyes widened in genuine shock. The color drained from his battered face as recognition finally hit him like a physical blow. "You... you were just a kid in France..."
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"And now I'm the one who read your secrets and dismantled your entire operation," I replied quietly, tapping the encrypted tablet in my vest pocket. "Every shell company, every bribe, every dirty account—it's all uploaded to federal authorities and syndicate archives right now."
Vance slumped back against the concrete floor, defeated, broken, and utterly ruined.
