Chapter 6 - A Debt Long OverdueThe rain hammered against the reinforced glass of the archives room, but inside, the air was dead silent. I stared at Dante, the weight of his words hanging between us like a physical barrier. For three years, I had spent my life dodging eviction notices, counting pennies, and swallowing insults from men like Arthur Finch just to survive. Now, the architect of that misery was about to face a reckoning that no courtroom could delay.
“If you move outside the legal channels, Dante, you’re playing right into their hands,” I warned, my voice tight with a mixture of fear and caution. “Finch’s grandfather didn't spend forty years covering his tracks by leaving loopholes for a vigilante.”
Dante’s expression didn't flicker. He pulled a heavy brass-keyed silver flash drive from his pocket and laid it beside the ledger. “They didn't leave loopholes, Clara. They left arrogance. They believed working-class families like yours and mine would eventually starve, get tired, and go quietly into the dark. But they forgot one fundamental law of the waterfront: debts left unpaid accumulate interest in blood and paper.”
He straightened up, buttoning his jacket. “Pack your bag. We’re going to the old municipal pier.”
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“At midnight? In this weather?”
“That’s when ghosts come out to settle accounts,” he said, turning toward the door.
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