Chapter 6 - The Iron DocksA torrential rainstorm battered the abandoned industrial docks of Pier 42. Fog rolled off the ocean, obscuring the towering shipping cranes that loomed over the black water like giant metal skeletons.
This was the drop site.
I crept through the shadows of the rusted cargo containers, my tactical gear soaked, a suppressed sidearm held ready. Beside me, Detective Bennett moved with practiced precision, while Major Hart covered us from a high sniper perch on an adjacent crane.
At the edge of the pier stood a sleek, stealth luxury yacht.
Preston Calder was pacing frantically on the dock, clutching a heavy silver briefcase to his chest. Standing across from him was a tall, shadow-draped figure in a tailored trench coat—Julian Vance, "The Architect."
"I brought you the drive, Julian!" Preston panicked, his voice trembling in the sea wind. "The feds took everything! My mother, my brother... they're arrested! You have to get me out of the country!"
Vance reached out a gloved hand and calmly took the silver briefcase. He checked the biometric readout, nodding as a green light confirmed the files were intact.
"You were always a sloppy child, Preston," Vance said softly, his voice echoing over the sound of crashing waves. "Your father had vision. You? You let your fragile ego destroy a multi-billion-dollar apparatus because you couldn't control a woman who was smarter than you."
"What are you saying?!" Preston gasped, stepping backward. "We had a deal!"
"Deals are made with assets," Vance said coolly, pulling a silenced pistol from his coat. "You are now a liability."
BANG.
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Preston collapsed onto the wet concrete, holding his shoulder, screaming in pain as Vance prepared to deliver a fatal shot.
"DROP IT, VANCE!" I roared, stepping out from behind a cargo container with my weapon trained squarely on his chest.
