Chapter 5 - NIGHT AT THE WHARF
Three days later, at 1:00 a.m., the mansion was completely silent.
Emma stood in the underground garage beneath the mansion, wearing dark denim jeans and a black leather jacket.
A sleek, matte-black sports car sat in the center of the garage, its engine idling with a low, throaty purr.
Victor stepped out of the private elevator—standing on his own two feet, dressed in an all-black tactical suit with a shoulder holster holding a sleek silver sidearm.
"You don't have to come with me, Emma," Victor said, checking the magazine of his weapon before sliding it into his holster. "Tonight is going to be messy."
"You need someone to watch the perimeter feeds from the car," Emma insisted, walking over to the passenger side. "Plus, if you get hurt, who's going to roll your wheelchair tomorrow morning?"
Victor looked at her for a long second, then let out a low chuckle. "You're infuriatingly headstrong, Carter."
"I've been told," she smiled.
Ten minutes later, the sports car tore through the rainy city streets, heading toward the industrial shipping docks at Pier 42.
Pier 42 was the heart of the Blackwood shipping empire. For years, it had been the main entry point for legal timber and steel—and illegal weapons shipments worth tens of millions.
Victor parked the car in a dark alleyway two blocks away from Warehouse 7. He handed Emma a high-tech tablet connected to the estate’s private satellite feed.
"Stay in the car," Victor commanded softly, looking into her eyes. "If you see red lights on the thermal feed, hit the alarm button on the dash."
"Victor, be careful," Emma said, reaching out and grabbing his arm.
Victor looked down at her hand on his sleeve, his expression softening. He reached over and gently pressed his lips to the back of her hand. "I always am."
He slipped out of the car and vanished into the darkness like a shadow.
Inside Warehouse 7, six men were unloading heavy wooden crates from a cargo ship. Standing at the center of the floor, wearing a high-vis jacket over a expensive suit, was Leo—Victor's head security guard.
"Hurry up!" Leo yelled to the dock workers. "Thomas wants these crates loaded onto the trucks before three in the morning! If Victor's men find out about this shipment—"
"Victor's men already know, Leo," a voice echoed from the high rafters above.
Leo spun around, pulling his gun! "Who's there?!"
A shadow dropped twenty feet from the catwalks, landing silently on the concrete floor in a low crouch!
Victor stood up slowly, stepping into the dim overhead lighting.
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Leo’s jaw dropped in absolute horror. "B-Boss?! You... you're standing?!"
"I've been standing for six months, Leo," Victor said, his voice cold as liquid nitrogen as he walked toward him. "And for six months, I've watched you sell my family's legacy to my uncle."
