Chapter 5 - The Midnight AllianceThe clock on my kitchen wall clicked toward midnight. The city below buzzed with the frantic energy of a Friday night, oblivious to the storm brewing inside my apartment. I had two choices: pack a bag, run, and hide behind whatever protection the federal government could offer; or fight back.
I chose the latter.
I didn't call the police. I knew as well as anyone that Viktor Rostov owned half the real estate board in Brooklyn and had several district attorneys in his back pocket. Calling local law enforcement would only alert him to my moves.
Instead, I dialed a private, unlisted number given to me by my father’s old corporate security chief before he passed away—a man named Marcus Thorne, a retired intelligence operative who now ran the most exclusive private risk-management firm on the East Coast.
It rang twice before a raspy, no-nonsense voice answered. "Thorne."
"Marcus, it's Marissa Cole. Arthur Cole’s daughter."
There was a brief pause, the sound of ice clinking against glass on the other end. "Marissa. I heard about the federal raid at Teterboro today. You’ve been busy."
"I don't have time for pleasantries, Marcus. Viktor Rostov just called me. He claims he holds the deed to my penthouse because Anthony used it to cover a gambling debt."
Marcus let out a low whistle. "Rostov. That complicates things. Rostov doesn't just want real estate, Marissa. He’s been trying to launder money through high-end Manhattan co-ops for years to buy political immunity. If he has your deed, he has a legal foothold in your building's board."
"How do I stop him?" I asked, my voice hard.
"You don't stop him by playing defense," Marcus said firmly. "You hit his ledger. Rostov’s entire operation is funded by a clandestine shipping network operating out of the Red Hook container terminals. If we can get inside his primary shipping warehouse tonight and pull the digital ledgers off his main server, we’ll have enough leverage to force him to hand the deed back on a silver platter."
"Tonight?"
"Tonight. Before he realizes the feds are closing in on his associates. Put on something dark, wear comfortable boots, and meet me at the old dry dock in Red Hook in forty minutes. I'll have a tactical kit waiting for you."
May you like
Thirty minutes later, I locked the penthouse door behind me, stepped into the private elevator, and descended into the dark. My old life—the lunches, the designer bags, the suffocating marriage—was officially dead.
In its place was a woman who was done being a victim.
