Chapter 8 - Midnight at the River PierBefore the evening assembly at the Metropolitan Club, there was one piece of unfinished business that required Dante’s personal attention.
At 3:00 PM, an armored convoy of four black Suburbans arrived at the abandoned Pier 42 in Brooklyn—the very dock where Thomas Vance had been fatally injured two decades earlier.
The autumn wind whipped off the gray waters of the harbor, carrying the scent of salt, rust, and damp creosote.
Elena stood beside Dante near the edge of the pier, flanked by Marco and six heavily armed enforcers.
Tied to a rusted iron mooring post on the pier was Victor—Giselle’s head of security. His face was bruised, his expensive leather jacket torn, and his hands bound securely with heavy plastic zip-ties.
Dante walked slowly across the weathered timber planks, stopping three feet from the captive.
“You had a busy night, Victor,” Dante said, his voice cold and conversational.
Victor spat a mouthful of blood onto the wet wood, glaring up with defiance.
“Go to hell, Caruso. You think you’re untouchable? Julian Delacroix has three hundred men mobilizing in Quebec right now. If you lay a finger on me, your city will burn to the ground!”
Dante didn’t raise his voice. He reached into his coat and produced a small, clear plastic evidence bag containing two spent 9mm shell casings retrieved from the First Avenue ambush.
“These casings match the rifling on the suppressed pistol we pulled from your apartment in Long Island City two hours ago,” Dante said, tossing the bag onto Victor’s lap. “The same weapon you used to murder the two guards who were escorting me on Fourteenth Street last November.”
Victor’s eyes widened, a flicker of panic breaking through his arrogant facade.
“I was following orders!” Victor stammered. “Julian paid me half a million dollars to take you off the board before the merger! Giselle was supposed to step in as regent and hand the maritime charters over to Montreal!”
“And Dr. Elena Vance?” Dante asked, stepping closer, his shadow falling over the kneeling man like a shroud. “Why did Giselle order her execution last night?”
Victor looked past Dante, his terrified gaze locking onto Elena as she stood in her dark coat, the wind whipping her hair across her face.
“Giselle knew Caruso was obsessed with finding the surgeon from the alley,” Victor whispered, his teeth chattering from the freezing river spray. “She hacked the EMS radio archives from that night. When she found out Elena was Thomas Vance’s daughter, she panicked! She knew that if Dante ever connected Elena to the old union files, the entire merger would unravel!”
Elena stepped forward, stopping beside Dante.
“You let my father bleed on this dock,” she said, her voice trembling with righteous fury. “You locked the gates while the ambulance sat with its lights flashing on the avenue.”
Victor looked down at the timber floorboards, unable to meet the burning gaze of the daughter whose life his employers had tried to extinguish.
Dante placed a heavy hand on Elena’s shoulder, a protective anchor against the cold wind.
“He will spend the rest of his life in ADX Florence, Elena,” Dante promised quietly. “Federal marshals are waiting at the perimeter to take him into custody under federal witness protection. He will testify against Julian Delacroix before a grand jury on Monday.”
Marco stepped forward with two federal agents in tactical gear, cutting the zip-ties and hauling Victor toward an unmarked government van.
As the van rolled away, Dante looked down at Elena.
“Are you ready for the Metropolitan Club, Doctor?”
May you like
Elena drew a deep, steady breath of the salty river air.
“I’ve been ready for twenty years, Dante.”
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