Chapter 4 - The Poisoned DocksThe air at Warehouse Four smelled of salt water, rotting wood, and the unmistakable, eye-watering sting of industrial bleach.
Police sirens wailed in the distance, but they weren't coming here—not yet. In Hadley, the police didn't answer calls at Lincoln Frost’s properties until Lincoln gave them permission.
Delia stepped out of the car, pulling her coat tight against the damp river breeze. The warehouse was a massive, corrugated metal barn stretching along the dark waters of the harbor. Inside, crates were stacked to the rafters, and several men in black tactical gear stood guard around a pallet of ruined medical boxes.
Lincoln walked in beside her, his hand resting instinctively near his holster, though his wounded arm was held stiffly at his side. Bruno followed close behind, his eyes scanning the shadows of the upper catwalks.
"Show me," Lincoln commanded.
A terrified-looking warehouse manager led them down aisle three to a pallet where dozens of cardboard shipping boxes were soaked through. The pungent chemical smell was overwhelming.
Delia dropped to her knees, snapping open her mother’s medical bag. She pulled out a pair of latex gloves, slipped them on, and reached into one of the torn boxes. She pulled out a glass vial of surgical saline, held it up to the pale light filtering through the high windows, and examined the rubber stopper.
"It wasn't sprayed from the outside," Delia said, her voice deadpan and professional.
Lincoln knelt beside her on the dusty concrete floor. "How do you know?"
"Look at the puncture mark on the rubber seal," she pointed, holding the vial closer to his face. "A microscopic needle gauge. Someone injected the bleach directly through the seal into the sterile saline and antibiotic vials without breaking the outer packaging. That requires medical knowledge, or at least someone who knows how syringes work."
Lincoln’s eyes darkened into abyssal blackness. "Not a common thug. Not Victor Vance’s street enforcers."
"An insider," Bruno rumbled from behind them, his hand tightening on his gun. "Someone with warehouse access and a medical background."
Delia stood up, dusting off her knees, her mind racing. "Why would anyone ruin thousands of dollars worth of medical supplies just to contaminate them? If Vance wanted to hurt your shipping business, he would have burned the warehouse down or stolen the cargo to sell on the black market."
"Because it wasn't about the money," a voice echoed from the shadows near the loading bay.
They all spun around.
Garrett Mallory stepped out from behind a stack of empty crates. He wasn't smiling anymore. His face was pale, his eyes wide and feverish, and in his right hand, he held a heavy-caliber Glock pointed squarely at Lincoln Frost’s chest.
"Garrett," Lincoln said, his voice terrifyingly calm, not moving a muscle. "Put the gun down before you make a mistake you won't live to regret."
"It's not a mistake, Mr. Frost," Garrett laughed, a high, unhinged sound that echoed off the metal walls. "It's a promotion. Victor Vance offered me ten times what you pay me to manage your accounts. All I had to do was let his men in, poison your medical distribution network so the city council blames your security negligence, and hand over the waterfront deeds."
Bruno lunged forward, but Garrett flicked the barrel of the gun toward him in a fraction of a second.
"Don't even think about it, Bruno! One twitch and I put a bullet right through your boss’s good lung." Garrett's eyes darted frantically toward the exit. "The car is waiting outside. I'm leaving. And if either of you follows me, the explosive charges I planted under the penthouse suite where little Naomi is sleeping will go off with a single click of my phone."
Delia felt the air leave her lungs. The room tilted violently.
"Naomi," she choked out, her hands flying to her mouth. "You son of a bitch—"
Lincoln didn't flinch, but the temperature in the warehouse dropped below freezing. His eyes locked onto Garrett with such lethal intensity that the younger man actually took a half-step back, his hand trembling on the trigger.
"You touch a hair on that child's head, Garrett," Lincoln whispered, his voice like grinding ice, "and I won't just kill you. I will dismantle everything your family ever built, brick by brick, until your name is erased from history."
Garrett swallowed hard, backing toward the sliding metal door. "Don't try to be a hero, Lincoln. The remote is in my hand. Stay here and rot."
With a swift motion, Garrett scrambled backward out the door, jumping into a waiting getaway car that roared off into the fog.
Bruno moved to follow, but Lincoln raised his hand, stopping him instantly.
"Car keys," Lincoln ordered, holding his hand out to Bruno.
"Boss, the penthouse—"
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"Give me the keys, Bruno!" Lincoln roared, the mask of absolute control finally shattering into pure, terrifying panic.
Delia didn't wait. She grabbed her medical bag, bolted out of the warehouse, and dove into the passenger seat of Lincoln's car just as he slammed his foot on the accelerator, sending the tires screaming against the asphalt.
