Chapter 5 - The Pilsen WarehouseThe rain had turned into a steady, freezing drizzle by the time our three-car convoy slipped into the industrial district of Pilsen. The building was an abandoned textile mill with broken windows on the upper floors and rusted iron stairwells clinging to its exterior brick walls like skeletal ribs.
We left the cars three blocks away, moving on foot through the shadows of the loading docks. Matteo moved with the silent, fluid grace of a predator who owned the night. Behind him, four of his most trusted men fanned out to secure the perimeter, while Leo stayed close to my flank, his hand resting casually inside his jacket near a suppressed pistol.
"The thermal imaging feed from our drone shows two heat signatures on the second floor," Leo whispered into our comms earpieces as we reached the side fire escape. "Arthur Gallagher is sitting by a portable heater near the center. Chloe is tied to a support pillar ten feet away."
"Any sign of Viktor Vance’s men?" I asked, testing the latch of the side door. It was unlocked—intentionally.
"Negative," Matteo murmured, stepping past me to lead the way into the dark stairwell. "Which means Vance sent your father to do the dirty work alone, intending to clean up the mess afterward by eliminating both of you."
We climbed the concrete stairs in absolute silence, the air growing colder and damper with every floor. When we reached the heavy metal door leading into the main textile floor, Matteo held up a hand, signaling us to freeze.
Through a narrow gap in the rusted hinges, I could see the scene inside.
A single overhead halogen work light cast harsh, yellow beams across the concrete floor. Chloe sat tied to a thick wooden support pillar, her dark hair matted with sweat, looking bruised and terrified. A strip of duct tape hung loose around her neck where she had managed to pull it down.
And standing right in front of her, holding a silver laptop and a heavy revolver, was my father.
He didn't look like a dying man in hospice care anymore. His hair was dyed a harsh jet black, his posture rigid, his eyes wild with the manic desperation of a gambler who had bet his last dollar on a losing hand.
"Stop crying, Chloe," my father snapped, pacing back and forth in front of her. "Your sister is smarter than you are. She figured out the routing codes. As soon as she logs into the Mercer account from her backup drive, we transfer the funds, we board a freighter for Marseilles, and this entire nightmare is over."
"You're insane, Dad," Chloe sobbed, her voice cracking. "Viktor Vance is going to kill us the second the money clears! You're working with monsters!"
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"We are the monsters, darling," Arthur laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "And your sister is going to walk right through that door in five minutes because she can't resist playing the hero."
I didn't wait for Matteo’s signal. I pushed the heavy metal door open with a loud, echoing clang.
