Chapter 6 - THE WATERLOGGED COAT
The metal container groaned and swayed violently in the gale-force winds, suspended fifty feet above the black harbor. Every gust of wind sent us swinging like a terrifying pendulum.
Clara was huddled in the corner, shielding Leo with her own body. The boy was crying silently, his small hands gripping her uniform shirt so tightly his knuckles were white.
“Bennett!” Clara screamed over the screeching metal. “What is he doing? He’s going to drop us!”
“No, he’s not!” I yelled back, though my own heart was hammering against my ribs. “If he drops us, he loses the leverage he needs for the audio tapes my mother has. This is psychological. He wants me broken before he forces you to hand over the deposit box key!”
I scrambled across the tilted floor, desperately searching for anything we could use. The office was mostly bare—a rusted desk, a filing cabinet, and a few scattered tools left behind by the dockworkers.
I grabbed a heavy iron crowbar from beneath the desk.
“Stay down!” I ordered Clara.
I moved to the reinforced glass window. If he wasn't going to drop us into the water, he was going to lower us onto a freighter bound for international waters. I had to break us out before we were completely isolated.
I swung the crowbar with all my strength against the corner of the reinforced glass.
Crack.
The glass spider-webbed but held. I swung again. And again. The muscles in my back screamed in protest, but I was fueled by a pure, unadulterated rage.
Finally, the glass shattered inward, blowing shards across the floor. Rain and freezing wind whipped into the small space.
I peered out the jagged hole. We were slowly being lowered, not into the water, but onto the deck of a massive cargo freighter idling at the edge of the pier. Dozens of Silas’s heavily armed men waited on the deck below.
“He’s loading us onto a ship,” I yelled over the storm.
I stripped off my heavy, waterproof trench coat. The wind in the container was freezing, and Leo was shivering violently. I moved over to them and wrapped the heavy coat completely around the boy, engulfing him in the thick fabric.
“I’m going to get us out of here, Clara,” I said, looking her dead in the eyes. “When this container hits the deck, the doors will open. It’s going to be a bloodbath. You take Leo and run toward the stern of the ship. Jump into the water if you have to. I will hold them off.”
“I am not leaving you to die!” Clara shouted, her eyes fierce.
“You have to protect my brother’s son!” I roared back.
Leo whimpered, shifting inside the massive coat. As he moved, his small hand reached into the deep inner pocket of the trench coat.
“Uncle Bennett?” Leo said softly, holding up a small, black leather-bound ledger. “Is this yours?”
I froze. I stared at the ledger.
I had never seen it before in my life. I didn't carry ledgers; my accounts were digital, encrypted on secure servers.
I took the small book from his trembling hands. The leather was damp. I flipped it open, using the dim light of the swinging halogen bulb.
The handwriting was immaculate, elegant, and instantly recognizable.
It was my mother’s handwriting.
She must have slipped it into my coat pocket back at the mansion before Silas flooded the room with gas.
I scanned the first page. It was a list of offshore bank accounts, routing numbers, and massive wire transfers—millions of dollars siphoned from the Hale syndicate over the last five years.
But the name attached to the accounts wasn't Silas Hale.
It was Victor Vance. My head of security.
The realization hit me with the force of a freight train. Silas wasn't the mastermind. Silas was a greedy, arrogant figurehead. Victor had been the one pulling the strings, manipulating my uncle, draining my accounts, and organizing the hits. Victor was the one who had taken Leo.
Before I could process the magnitude of the betrayal, the container hit the steel deck of the freighter with a massive, jarring crash.
The heavy steel doors instantly unlocked from the outside and swung open.
Ten armed men stood in a semi-circle on the rain-slicked deck, their weapons raised.
Standing in the center, wearing a heavy raincoat and a smug smile, was Silas.
“End of the line, Bennett,” Silas yelled over the storm. “Hand over the girl and the boy. You, I’m putting in a barrel.”
I stepped out of the container, keeping Clara and Leo shielded behind me. I raised my weapon, but I didn't aim at Silas.
I pulled the black ledger from my pocket and held it up in the rain.
“You’ve been played, Uncle!” I roared.
Silas frowned, his men keeping their guns trained on me.
“Victor is bleeding you dry!” I shouted, tossing the ledger onto the wet steel deck at Silas’s feet. “He’s using you to take out the family, and when I’m dead, he’s going to kill you and take the throne for himself. Look at the accounts!”
Silas stared at the book. Paranoia was a mafia boss’s greatest weakness. He couldn't resist. He bent down and picked up the ledger, flipping it open.
His eyes scanned the pages. The smug smile vanished, replaced by a look of absolute, terrified realization.
“He… he told me these were operational costs,” Silas stammered, looking up at his own men, suddenly unsure who they were truly loyal to.
That second of hesitation was all I needed.
I didn't wait for Silas to give an order. I fired two rapid shots, dropping the men closest to the container doors.
Chaos erupted.
The deck turned into a warzone of muzzle flashes and screaming metal. Silas dropped the ledger and dove behind a cargo crate, abandoning his men.
“Run!” I yelled to Clara.
I laid down covering fire as Clara grabbed Leo, practically throwing him over her shoulder, and sprinted toward the narrow catwalks lining the edge of the freighter.
I backed up, firing blindly into the storm to keep the gunmen pinned down.
Suddenly, a searing, white-hot pain exploded in my left shoulder.
I was thrown backward against the steel railing of the catwalk, my gun slipping from my fingers. I slumped to the deck, blood instantly soaking my white dress shirt.
Through the rain and the gunsmoke, I saw a massive figure stepping out from the shadows of the wheelhouse.
It was Victor. He held a smoking rifle in his hands.
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“Silas was always an idiot, Bennett,” Victor yelled, smiling as he racked the bolt of his rifle. “But you? You were smart. Too bad you let a maid make you stupid.”
Victor raised the rifle, aiming directly at my head.
