Chapter 6 - Shadows on the CliffThe iron door of the lighthouse stood slightly ajar, groaning on its rusted hinges as the ocean wind battered it back and forth.
Adrian raised a gloved hand, signaling Victor to flank the left side of the stone structure while he took the main entrance. The interior smelled of damp mortar, ancient iron, and stale cigarette smoke. Someone had been staying here.
Adrian stepped inside, his leather boots making no sound on the circular stone steps winding upward into the darkness.
"Adrian Moreland," a raspy voice echoed down from the upper landing, laced with a cynical, mocking amusement. "I must hand it to your father's bloodline. You have his exact stubbornness. Walking right into a lion's den without even bringing an umbrella."
Adrian stopped on the third landing, his hand resting casually inside his overcoat pocket, wrapped around the checkered grip of his Walther PPK.
"Julian Vance," Adrian called out, his voice echoing off the curved stone walls with chilling calm. "You've aged. Twenty years in federal witness protection makes a man soft. I expected you to look more... dangerous."
A figure stepped out of the shadows near the balcony rail on the top floor, looking down into the stairwell. The faint light of the stormy dawn filtered through the grimy glass windows above, illuminating a sharp nose, slicked-back gray hair, and a jagged, silvery scar cutting right across his right eyelid.
Julian Vance smiled, flashing a row of unnaturally white teeth. He held a silver revolver loosely in his right hand, pointing it lazily toward the floorboards.
"Age gives you perspective, boy," Vance said, taking a slow step down the stairs. "Twenty years ago, your father thought he owned the docks, the unions, and the courts. He thought a bullet or a fire could settle a ledger. But men like Judge Daniel Thorne and I realized something your father never understood: Violence is just a temporary distraction. Real power is paperwork."
"Is that why you hid behind a four-year-old child tonight?" Adrian asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "Because paperwork wasn't working fast enough?"
Vance's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before hardening into a sneer. "The brat was useful. A brilliant little touch, don't you think? Children are invisible. They see everything, but adults never believe them. Just like Claire. She thought she was saving her brother from the Russian mob. Poor, naive little social climber, ready to sell her soul for a diamond ring and a penthouse."
"She’s sitting in my car right now," Adrian said calmly, taking another step upward.
Vance laughed, a dry, grating sound. "Let her sit. By noon, federal marshals will arrive at your estate with a warrant signed by Judge Thorne. Your assets will be frozen under RICO statutes, your businesses will be seized under money-laundering charges dating back to your father's era, and you will be spending the rest of your life in a supermax prison where no amount of money can buy you a clean breath of air."
"That's a very thorough plan," Adrian said. He stopped five steps below Vance, looking up at the older man with absolute pity. "There's just one flaw."
Vance raised his revolver, his eyes narrowing. "And what's that, boy?"
May you like
"You forgot to check who else was in the car," Adrian said softly.
Before Vance could pull the trigger, the heavy oak door at the bottom of the lighthouse slammed open. Heavy boot steps echoed up the stone spiral staircase, followed by the unmistakable metallic click of a shotgun being racked.
