Chapter 12 - Midnight at Berth 4The air at Berth 4 smelled of diesel fuel, salt water, and rust.
The massive crane towers loomed like skeletal giants against the moonless sky. Below, the container ship Corvino Pride rested against the concrete pier, its massive hull towering over us like a floating fortress.
Tessa and I sat inside the tinted windows of a surveillance SUV parked deep in the shadows of the cargo stacks. Through the infrared binoculars, I watched three unmarked trucks pull up alongside the pier. Armed men in black tactical gear poured out, led by a tall, broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar across his jaw—Julian Vance.
"They brought thirty men," Tessa whispered, her hand hovering over the secure radio console. "And they've disabled the local CCTV feeds on sector four."
"Amateur hour," I muttered, sliding open the SUV door.
Tessa caught my arm, her brown eyes searching mine with a flash of sharp concern. "Vincent, you shouldn't be walking the perimeter on uneven concrete. Let the security team clear the deck first."
"No," I said, gently pulling my arm free and grabbing my cane. "Dominic and his little syndicate need to learn who owns this harbor. And I want to deliver the lesson personally."
We moved silently through the labyrinth of stacked shipping containers, flanked by four of our most trusted private security operatives. As we approached the central loading crane, Julian’s voice echoed off the steel walls.
"Hurry up and rig the override codes on container four-zero-nine!" Julian shouted to one of his tech specialists. "Once we control the shipping manifest, Corvino is completely finished, whether he can walk or not!"
I stepped out from the shadow of a forty-foot container, my cane clicking sharply against the concrete.
"You're welcome to try, Julian," I said.
May you like
Julian spun around, his hand instinctively dropping toward the holster at his hip. When he saw me standing there—upright, steady, framed by the harsh industrial lights—his hand froze.
"You..." Julian sneered, recovering his composure with a forced, ugly laugh. "You're supposed to be crippled in a mansion, Vincent. What are you going to do, beat me to death with a walking stick?"
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