Chapter 6 - The Final Reckoning at the Dry DockThe abandoned dry dock off Route 41 looked like the graveyard of an empire. Towering steel cranes rusted against the dark, starless sky, and the skeletal frames of half-built cargo ships cast long, grotesque shadows across the frozen concrete ground.
My black SUV crunched across the gravel, stopping fifty yards from the main loading bay where a single halogen work light cut through the freezing fog.
I killed the engine, stepped out into the biting wind, and walked toward the center of the open bay, my hand resting casually inside my coat pocket, wrapped around the grip of my Sig Sauer.
"I knew you'd come, Daniel!"
Julian Vance stepped out from behind a stack of rusted steel beams, a smug, venomous smile twisting his face. Behind him stood four armed enforcers holding automatic rifles, and a few paces to their left stood Michael Reed, looking nervous, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
I stopped twenty feet away, my eyes locked on Michael.
"Twelve years, Michael," I said, my voice carrying clearly across the silent dock. "I gave you a seat at my table. I made you a rich man. And you sold our entire operation to a corporate rat like Julian."
Michael flushed, looking away from my gaze. "You were losing your grip, boss. You got soft ever since you married her. You stopped seeing the big picture, and I wasn't going down in a federal prison cell just because you wanted to play domestic bliss."
"You didn't just sell the operation, Michael," I said coldly. "You sold the Zurich server to Vance. Which means you broke the one rule that kept you alive."
Julian Vance laughed, stepping forward and clapping his hands mockingly. "Oh, spare us the dramatic mob-boss speech, Daniel. Your empire is gone. The feds have your offices, your accounts are frozen, and by morning, your name will be mud across every financial ledger in North America. Sign the asset transfer papers over to my holding company, and maybe—just maybe—we'll let you catch a freighter to South America before the marshals put the cuffs on you."
He pulled a thick manila folder out from under his arm and tossed it onto a wooden crate between us, along with a gold fountain pen.
"Sign it, Daniel," Julian sneered. "Or watch your loyal chief of security put a bullet through your chest right here in the mud."
I didn't look at the papers. I looked straight at Michael.
"You really think he's going to let you walk away with your cut, Michael?" I asked quietly. "Men like Julian don't pay loose ends. They bury them."
Michael blinked, a flicker of genuine doubt crossing his face. He turned to Julian. "Mr. Vance... we had an agreement. The offshore accounts—"
"Shut up, you idiot," Julian snapped, his smile vanishing as he pulled a small snub-nosed revolver from his overcoat and pointed it directly at Michael’s chest. "You really thought I was going to split millions with a traitor? Please."
Before Michael could even scream, Julian pulled the trigger.
The gunshot cracked through the night air like a whip. Michael staggered backward, a dark red flower blossoming across the front of his coat, before collapsing heavily onto the frozen concrete.
I didn't flinch. I drew my Sig Sauer in a fraction of a second, clearing leather before Julian’s four guards could even raise their weapons.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three shots. Three precise, devastating impacts.
The two guards on the left dropped instantly. The remaining two scattered for cover behind the steel beams, returning wild, inaccurate fire that pinged harmlessly off the frame of my SUV.
Julian Vance scrambled backward, his face turning the color of curdled milk as he dropped his revolver and raised his hands, trembling in terror.
"Daniel—wait! Don't shoot! We can work something out! I have the offshore keys—I can give you everything—"
I walked slowly across the concrete, stepping over Michael’s motionless body, until I stood right in front of Julian. The barrel of my gun pressed gently against the center of his forehead.
"You wanted my empire, Julian?" I whispered, my voice sounding like grinding ice. "It's all yours."
I didn't pull the trigger. Instead, I brought the butt of my pistol down hard across the bridge of his nose with a sickening crunch. Julian collapsed into the mud, unconscious and bleeding profusely.
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Behind me, the sound of approaching police sirens wailed in the distance, mixing with the red and blue flashing lights of federal cruisers converging on the dry dock.
It was over.
