Chapter 6 - THE THREAT
Damon walked down the corridor to his private balcony overlooking the rain-swept gardens, pressing the phone to his ear.
“Marlowe,” Damon spoke, his voice dropping into pure ice.
“Cross,” Walter Marlowe’s voice rasped through the speaker. He sounded old, furious, and slightly slurred by alcohol. “You threw my daughter out of your restaurant tonight like a dog. You had my bank credit lines frozen. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Your daughter assaulted a woman in my establishment,” Damon replied calmly. “And as for your credit lines, I bought your bank’s distressed debt two hours ago. I own your mortgages now, Walter.”
A heavy silence hung on the line, followed by Walter’s ragged breathing.
“You think you’re invincible, don't you, Cross?” Walter spat bitterly. “You think because you run the harbor board and own half the city’s politicians that you can destroy thirty years of my family’s work in one night?”
“I know I can,” Damon said flatly. “Because thirty years of your work was built on corruption, bribery, and violence. Six months ago, you sent a truck to run my car off Route 9. You killed Eli Voss.”
Walter gasped slightly, caught off guard by the direct accusation.
“I... I don't know what you’re talking about!” Walter stammered, trying to regain control. “Route 9 was a traffic accident!”
“You had your signet ring left on Eli’s widow’s table to terrify her into silence,” Damon continued, his voice cold, heavy, and absolute. “You made a pregnant woman run for her life while you tried to steal my harbor leases. You made a fatal mistake, Walter.”
“Listen to me, Cross!” Walter snarled, dropping his pathetic act of innocence. “If I go down, I won't go down alone! I know who that girl is! I know she’s staying at your Brookline house! If you push this foreclosure tomorrow morning, I’ll send every man I have left to tear that house apart!”
Damon didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice. He simply leaned against the stone balcony railing, looking out at the dark rain.
“You don't have any men left, Walter,” Damon said softly.
“What?”
“Your head of security, Miller, was arrested twenty minutes ago at his home in Quincy,” Damon revealed smoothly. “The truck driver, Gary Higgins, just signed a sworn confession to the state police in exchange for full immunity. And two federal marshals are currently standing outside your front door in Beacon Hill with a warrant for your arrest on federal racketeering and corporate conspiracy charges.”
The phone dropped on the other end, clattering against a hard floor, followed by the distant sound of heavy pounding on Walter Marlowe’s front door.
“Federal agents! Open the door, Walter Marlowe!” a voice shouted through the speaker before the line went dead.
May you like
Damon lowered his phone, slipping it back into his pocket.
The rain was stopping, revealing the first light of a clear blue dawn breaking over the distant skyline of Boston.
