Chapter 6 - The Tenement at the Edge of the TracksThe lower district of 4th Street looked like a forgotten war zone. Water rushed through the broken asphalt, and the skeletal frames of abandoned industrial warehouses loomed against the lightning-lit sky.
Robert’s heavy SUV plowed through the flooded streets, sending waves splashing against the crumbling brick facades. They finally ground to a halt outside a derelict four-story tenement building whose windows were mostly shattered or patched with plastic sheeting.
"Sir, let me take the lead," Marcus urged, reaching for his jacket where a concealed holster rested.
"Stay by the car with the radio," Robert commanded, stepping out directly into the freezing downpour. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, send the backup team."
The air inside the hallway smelled of damp rot, cheap bleach, and sulfur. Robert climbed the creaking wooden stairs, his polished shoes crunching over broken plaster and discarded trash.
Third floor. Room 302.
He reached the door. It was a flimsy slab of plywood held together by a rusty padlock and a broken latch. He didn't bother knocking. With a single, brutal kick of his heel, the door splintered off its hinges and crashed inward into the darkness.
"Police! Stay where you are—" a gruff voice shouted from inside.
Robert flicked on his high-powered tactical flashlight, sweeping the beam across the cramped, freezing room.
There was no furniture to speak of—just a mattress on the floor, a single kerosene heater that had run out of fuel, and an old woman huddled under a thin grey wool blanket.
And standing over her, holding a heavy iron pipe, was a burly man in a security uniform—a man Robert recognized instantly as one of Victor Sterling’s former enforcers.
"Well, well," the enforcer sneered, lowering the pipe slightly as the beam hit his face. "Look who crawled out of Bellmont Heights. Miller. The old man said you might come looking, but you're a bit too late."
Robert’s eyes darted past the enforcer to the mattress. An elderly woman with silver hair lay motionless, her face deathly pale, her breathing shallow and rattling.
"Grandma Rose," Robert breathed, recognizing her from old photographs Elena used to keep.
"She’s got about an hour left in her," the enforcer laughed, cracking his knuckles. "Just like the brat. Old man Sterling wants all loose ends tied up tonight. No witnesses, no grandchildren, no memory of the Sterling bloodline outside his control."
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Robert didn't blink. He didn't flinch. Ten years ago, he would have panicked. Ten years ago, he was a victim.
Now, he was a predator whose cub had been cornered.
