Chapter 6 - The Reclamation
Pier 42 was a rusting, cavernous structure at the far edge of the industrial shipping district. Cold salt spray blew through the cracked windows, and the smell of diesel oil, wet rope, and fish hung thick in the damp air.
Inside the small, glass-walled office overlooking the empty warehouse floor, Marcus Kane sat at a cluttered metal desk, counting a stack of hundred-dollar bills. He was a heavy, thick-necked man with a scar running through his left eyebrow.
The heavy steel door of the warehouse did not open gently. It crashed inward, the rusted hinges groaning as four large men in dark wool coats stepped into the building.
Behind them walked August Halloway.
Kane stood up violently, reaching for the drawer of his desk. "What the hell is this? Halloway, you can't just walk in here—"
Before Kane’s hand could reach the drawer, Vance stepped through the office door, caught Kane by his leather lapels, and slammed him back into his steel chair with a force that rattled the desk lamp.
August walked into the office slowly, his hands folded behind his back, his black leather gloves pristine under the buzzing overhead fluorescent lights. He did not look angry. He looked like an executive attending a routine inventory review.
"Marcus," August said smoothly, taking a seat on the edge of the desk.
Kane swallowed hard, his hands resting flat on the wooden surface, his scar flushing dark red under his pale skin. "August... listen to me. Whatever you heard, it’s a misunderstanding. Old man Ashford came to me! He wanted to buy some historical manifest data on your coastal runs—"
"I don't care about the manifests, Marcus," August said softly.
He leaned forward, placing his gloved hands flat on the desk, bringing his face six inches from Kane’s.
"You had men standing outside the gates of my estate yesterday," August whispered. "You had them taking photos of a woman who works in my home."
Kane’s eyes widened with genuine, terrifying realization. He had assumed August was here to protect his corporate supply lines. He hadn't realized he had crossed a line that had nothing to do with money or cargo.
"August... I swear to God, I didn't know!" Kane stammered, his tough waterfront persona evaporating in an instant. "Celeste told me she was just a servant! She said the girl was carrying some local guy's baby and that you were using her to hide assets—"
"If your men step within five miles of Halloway House again," August said, his voice dropping into a register so quiet it was almost lost beneath the sound of the rain outside, "I will take Pier 42. I will take your warehouse. I will take your licenses. And then I will ensure that every union dock worker from Maine to Rhode Island knows you passed information to federal investigators."
Kane went completely pale. "You wouldn't... that’s a death sentence on the docks!"
"Then I suggest you remember that Nurse Meredith Vale is under the absolute, personal protection of the Halloway family," August said, standing up smoothly and smoothing his coat lapels.
He looked down at Kane one last time.
"If her name so much as crosses your lips again, Marcus, you won't have a pier to run. Do you understand me?"
May you like
Kane nodded rapidly, unable to produce a single word.
August turned and walked out of the warehouse, his leather shoes clicking sharply on the concrete floor, leaving behind a man who finally understood that some boundaries in Boston were written in iron.
