Chapter 5 - The Standoff at Pier 14By 10:45 PM, the rain lashed heavily against the towering steel shipping containers at Pier 14 in Red Hook.
High-powered halogen floodlights illuminated the wet concrete, casting long, dramatic shadows across thirty armed Moretti mercenaries standing near the entrance gates.
Standing near the front crane, holding a heavy flare gun, was Victor Vance, his face flushed with unhinged, desperate rage.
Surrounding the perimeter were ten black armored SUVs belonging to Kareem Rahal. Kareem stood near the hood of his lead vehicle wearing a dark coat, his hands tucked inside his pockets, his storm-gray eyes burning with a dark, terrifying fire as his security team held their sidearms ready.
"SIGN THE LEASE TRANSFER, KAREEM!" Victor Vance screamed over the rain. "IF YOU DON'T SIGN IT IN FIVE MINUTES, I'M DROPPING THIS FLARE INTO THE FUEL RESERVOIR!"
"You're a fool, Victor," Kareem’s baritone thundered across the pier. "You think destroying my docks will give you an empire?!"
A sleek black Maybach pulled up behind Kareem’s vehicle.
The rear door opened.
I stepped out onto the wet asphalt wearing my dark wool coat, carrying a thick leather dossier under my arm, my posture royal, my hazel eyes holding zero fear as I walked straight past Kareem’s security line toward the center of the pier.
"Nia!" Kareem barked in sudden, fierce alarm, reaching out to catch my arm. "Get back in the car!"
"Let me speak to him, Don Kareem," I said softly, looking into his eyes with an absolute, steady calm. "I know how to end this without a single shot being fired."
I stepped into the bright glare of the halogen floodlights, stopping ten feet from Victor Vance.
"Victor!" I called out cleanly, my voice carrying over the sound of the rain and crashing ocean waves.
Victor stared at me in total, speech-bound shock. "You...?! The waitress?!"
I opened the leather dossier, holding up two certified legal documents bound by red federal seals.
"The secondary labor liens you filed two hours ago are void, Victor," I announced flatly. "Because thirty minutes ago, the National Labor Relations Board and the Federal Maritime Commission verified that eighty percent of the dock workers’ signatures on your petition were forged."
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Victor went pale, his hand trembling over the flare gun. "You're lying! You can't verify those signatures in two hours!"
"I verified them because my grandmother taught me how to read Arabic and French notary stamps," I revealed, taking two steps closer. "The notary seal you used belonged to a shell firm in Montreal that was liquidated six years ago. Special Agent Miller of the FBI is currently standing outside your brother's house in Staten Island with an arrest warrant."
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