Chapter 7 - The Riverside Iron Works
The side door of the warehouse stood slightly ajar, squeaking rhythmically as the river wind caught the rusted metal frame.
Daniel stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of wet river silt, machine oil, and rotting timber. Rain hammered violently against the high corrugated roof forty feet above, creating a deafening, continuous roar that drowned out the sound of his footsteps.
A single incandescent light bulb hung from a long rubber cord in the center of the vast, open floor, swaying gently in the draft, casting long, frantic shadows across rows of abandoned iron presses and wooden crates.
Tied to a heavy wooden chair beneath the single light bulb was Lily.
Her eyes were wide with terror, a strip of grey duct tape secured over her mouth, her small frame wrapped in a oversized wool blanket. She saw Daniel enter and immediately began to struggle against the ropes, her muffled cries lost beneath the thunderous roar of the rain on the roof.
"Lily!" Daniel called out, stepping into the circle of light.
"I wouldn't take another step, Daniel," a voice echoed from the darkness high above on the gantry crane platform.
A man stepped out into the yellow glare of the hanging bulb. He was thin, in his late fifties, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that looked entirely out of place in the ruined factory. He had slicked-back gray hair, sharp facial features, and carried a heavy, suppressed automatic pistol in his right hand.
It was Arthur Vance, the former chief financial officer of Carter Technologies.
"Where is he, Vance?" Daniel demanded, stopping ten feet from Lily's chair, keeping his hands visible at his sides. "Where is my father?"
Vance smiled—a thin, lifeless expression that didn't reach his eyes. "Your father is where he always is, Daniel—managing his investments from a safe distance. He doesn't deal with the boots on the ground anymore. That's what he pays me for."
Vance stepped down the iron ladder from the gantry, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete floor until he stood five paces from Daniel.
"The notebook," Vance said, extending his left hand. "And the key to the safety deposit box at First Commercial. Hand them over, and you can take your little girl and leave the state. You can keep your corporate title, your news articles, and your fake empire. Your father just wants his capital back."
"My father killed my wife," Daniel said, his voice deadly calm.
"Your wife was an amateur who didn't understand the scale of the organization she was poking her nose into," Vance replied coldly. "She thought she was dealing with corporate fraud. She didn't realize she was trying to dismantle a sovereign asset-clearing network."
Vance raised the pistol, leveling the sights directly at Daniel’s chest. "The book, Daniel. Now."
Daniel slowly reached into his internal coat pocket, pulling out the black leather notebook. He held it up in the dim light, watching Vance’s eyes track the object with intense greed.
"You want Emily's records?" Daniel asked. He flicked his wrist, launching the notebook twenty feet to his left, sending it sliding across the slick, oil-stained concrete into the dark shadows beneath a heavy iron stamping machine.
"You fool!" Vance snarled, swinging his weapon toward Daniel.
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Before Vance could pull the trigger, Lily’s muffled scream cut through the room. She was leaning forward in her chair, kicking her small feet frantically against the floorboards, pointing her bound hands downward toward a rusted iron grate set into the concrete directly beneath her seat.
"Daddy!" her muffled voice squeaked through the tape. "Daddy... there's something underneath us!"
