Chapter 5 - The Trap at the Docks
The Blackwood private container terminal at the Port of Chicago was shrouded in a thick, freezing lake fog. Giant orange cranes loomed like skeletal giants against the grey morning sky, while diesel engines rumbled in the distance.
Victor’s black armored Maybach glided silently to a halt beside Pier 42. Marcus was out of the passenger door in a second, holding a heavy black umbrella against the drizzle.
"Where is Richard?" Victor asked, his polished leather shoes crunching on the wet asphalt as he stepped out.
"Waiting inside warehouse B," Marcus replied, leading the way past towering stacks of shipping crates. "He brought backup. Not corporate lawyers, either. Word is, he hired a clean-up crew from the Outfit out of New York to try and reclaim those ledger drives by force."
Victor’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk. "Good. It saves me the trouble of hunting them down individually."
They pushed open the heavy corrugated steel door of warehouse B. Inside, rows of massive cargo containers formed a dark, labyrinthine corridor. In the center, beneath a harsh halogen work light, stood Richard Montigue—sweating profusely despite the cold, flanked by four heavily armed men in dark tactical gear.
"Victor!" Richard barked, stepping forward with a desperate, furious expression. "Have you lost your absolute mind? Detaining my daughter, seizing my ships, locking down my corporate accounts—are you trying to start a war?"
Victor didn't stop walking. He kept his hands comfortably in his coat pockets, stopping ten feet away from Richard’s armed thugs.
"Your daughter tried to murder my son yesterday, Richard," Victor said, his voice echoing flatly off the concrete walls. "And as for your ships... well, imagine my surprise when my security team found illegal syndicate ledgers and unregistered assault rifles hidden beneath your luxury furniture shipments."
Richard’s face flushed a deep, mottled red. "That’s a fabrication! You planted those files to justify a hostile takeover of my shipping empire!"
"Did I?" Victor raised an eyebrow. He motioned to Marcus, who tossed a heavy, water-damaged flash drive onto the concrete floor right at Richard’s feet. "That drive contains encrypted backups of every communication between your corporate office and the Russian syndicate operating out of Milwaukee. It seems Serena wasn't just a spoiled socialite—she was your family’s primary money launderer."
One of the New York mercenaries behind Richard slowly reached for the Sig Sauer pistol holstered at his hip. "Boss," the mercenary muttered, "he’s stalling. Just put him down."
Richard looked down at the flash drive, then up at Victor’s cold, unblinking eyes. Panic surged through him. He pulled a concealed snub-nosed revolver from his jacket pocket and pointed it directly at Victor’s chest.
"I didn't want it to come to this, Victor," Richard shrieked, his hand shaking violently. "You should have just taken the money and ignored what happened in the foyer! Now... now you die, and we claim the entire Blackwood estate!"
Richard pulled the trigger.
Click.
The firing pin struck empty air. Richard stared down at the revolver in absolute shock.
Victor didn't even blink. He slowly pulled his right hand out of his coat pocket, holding the magazine of Richard’s revolver between his fingers.
"Rule number one in Chicago, Richard," Victor whispered, stepping forward with terrifying speed. "Never trust a man whose bodyguards I bought off three weeks ago."
Before Richard could scream, Victor’s hand lashed out, gripping the older man by the throat and slamming him against the side of a steel cargo container with bone-rattling force. The New York mercenaries instinctively raised their rifles, but before they could fire, Marcus and a dozen hidden Blackwood snipers stationed on the catwalks above locked their laser sights directly onto the mercenaries' chests.
"Drop your weapons," Marcus commanded, his voice ringing out with absolute authority. "Or you won't live to see the sunrise."
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The weapons hit the concrete with a loud, clattering thud.
Victor looked down at Richard, whose face was turning blue as the grip on his windpipe tightened. "You thought you could hide behind your daughter’s engagement to control my empire," Victor hissed. "And in doing so, you signed your own death warrant. Marcus... pack him up. We’re taking him home to meet Serena."
