Chapter 7 - The Silent Syndicate BoardroomWhile the historic stone estate on the river offered warmth and safety, the underground war for control of the Great Lakes shipping corridors was reaching its boiling point.
Two nights after the River Street Foundry seizure, Christian and I sat across from three regional syndicate elders in the secure basement boardroom of the Thorne Logistics tower. The room was dark, paneled in black walnut, and illuminated only by a single overhead brass lamp shining down on a massive nautical map of Lake Huron and Lake Michigan.
The eldest of the syndicate bosses, a weathered veteran named Arthur Sterling who had served under Christian’s grandfather, leaned forward and slammed his fist gently against the table.
“Marcus Vance and his remaining loyalists are panicking, Christian,” Sterling warned, his voice gravelly with age. “They’ve reached out to the eastern syndicates out of Buffalo. They’re planning a synchronized strike on the primary rail freight interchange at Port Huron tonight. If they hijack those container cars, they can frame your logistics trust for interstate smuggling before the federal indictments are processed.”
Christian didn't flinch. His expression remained as cold and still as carved granite. He folded his hands neatly over the map, his knuckles flashing the dark, intricate ink of the mechanical gear and iron crown.
“Let them try,” Christian said quietly. “We’ve anticipated their move. The container cars leaving Port Huron tonight are loaded with GPS trackers and sealed digital evidence packages compiled by Sarah’s audit team. The moment Marcus attempts to divert them, the federal cyber-crime division and our private transport units will lock the entire perimeter.”
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Sterling glanced across the table at me, a grudging respect shining in his cloudy eyes. “You found yourself a sharp accountant, Christian. She’s dismantled more of the Vance syndicate in one week than our enforcers managed in five years.”
“She’s not an accountant, Arthur,” Christian corrected softly, casting a warm, sideways glance at me. “She’s the anchor.”
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