Chapter 6 - The Line of Fire
The metallic echo of Julian’s voice bounced off the towering stacks of empty fish crates inside Pier 48. His hand trembled, the barrel of his pistol wavering only an inch from the temple of the little girl, who clutched her dirty blanket tighter and squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t crying anymore; the terror had frozen her into a silent, trembling statue.
"You look small down there, Daniel," Julian sneered, stepping back half a pace into the shadows of the rusted catwalk support. "No guards. No private army. Just a rich man in a chair who forgot that power in this city belongs to whoever is willing to pull the trigger."
My hands rested lightly on the rubber rims of my wheels. The gun tucked beneath my left arm felt heavy, cold against my ribs. But my mind wasn't on the weapon. It was on the math of the room: distance twenty feet, angle upward toward the catwalk, and Julian’s erratic, drug-fueled grip on the slide. If I drew, the recoil could throw my aim off, and a stray round would find the child.
"You didn't bring me here for the money, Julian," I said, my voice cutting through the damp air with a flat, icy command that made him flinch. "You already drained three hundred thousand from the restaurant accounts. That's enough to buy a ticket to South America twice over. You brought me here because Marcus Thorne told you to."
Julian’s face tightened. "Thorne doesn't know everything I—"
"Thorne wants my empire, not your petty embezzlement," I interrupted, keeping my gaze locked on his shifting eyes. "He’s using you as a disposable fuse, Julian. The moment federal marshals kick in these doors—and they are five minutes behind me—they won't find a criminal mastermind. They'll find a scapehot holding a terrified child while Thorne takes over my waterfront properties clean of federal interference."
"Shut up!" Julian screamed, his finger tightening against the trigger guard. "You think you're still the boss? You're a cripple! You haven't walked a step in five years! You sit in your mansion pretending you're untouchable while the world passes you by!"
"Maybe I haven't walked," I said quietly. "And maybe I can't stand up to face you. But I built every inch of the foundation you're standing on, Julian. And I know how rotten it is."
I didn't reach for my pistol. Instead, I released one wheel and let my hand drop casually into my coat pocket, my fingers brushing the cold metal of my phone. With a single blind press of my thumb against the shortcut key, I triggered the encrypted distress beacon Vance was monitoring from the van outside.
Julian saw the movement and panicked. "Hands on the wheels! Don't reach for anything—"
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Before he could finish the sentence, the heavy corrugated steel doors at the far end of the warehouse exploded inward with a deafening screech of rending metal and blinding headlights.
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