Chapter 4 - The War Room
At three o'clock in the morning, the private subterranean conference room beneath the Callaway Grand was packed with eight men and women who controlled the vast, silent machinery of Donovan Ree’s empire.
These were not street thugs; they were logistics directors, port commanders, financial fixers, and tactical team leaders. They sat around an oval marble table while rain roared through the drainage pipes far overhead.
Greer sat at the end of the table, monitoring security cameras from the penthouse on a personal monitor. Mave was still sleeping peacefully, guarded by two senior operators outside her door.
"Miller has eighty active men between the docks and the East District," reported Frank, a scarred veteran who oversaw Donovan’s perimeter security. "He’s backed by corrupt precinct captains in the fifth district. If we strike his territory openly, the police will step in to protect Miller under the guise of an anti-gang initiative."
"Then we don't strike openly," Donovan said, standing at the head of the table. "We isolate him."
"Donovan," Sarah Sterling interjected, leaning forward. "The legal risk here is astronomical. If the press gets wind that you are harbouring a minor while engaging in an armed turf dispute, the federal prosecutor will issue a war warrant for your arrest."
"Then draft adoption papers," Donovan ordered smoothly.
The room went completely quiet.
Sarah blinked, stunned. "I... what?"
"Draft emergency temporary guardianship papers," Donovan repeated. "Find every legal loophole, every emergency family-court judge who owes me a favor, and get my name attached to her temporary custody by dawn. Ruth abandoned her on my commercial property. I am stepping in as a corporate Samaritan exercising duty of care."
"It’s flimsy, Donovan," Sarah warned. "A good prosecutor could shred that in an hour."
"It buys me forty-eight hours," Donovan replied. "And forty-eight hours is all I need to destroy Victor Miller."
He turned to Vance. "Where is Miller holding his primary financial records?"
"On a luxury yacht anchored off Pier 19," Vance answered. "It’s a mobile command center. High-grade encryption, private security guards, completely off-grid. If he loses that yacht, he loses his entire financial network."
"Then that’s where we strike," Donovan said. "Frank, take team alpha and cut off his land escape routes at Pier 18. Vance, you and I are taking a boat out to that yacht at four AM."
"Boss," Greer spoke up, her voice sharp enough to draw every eye. "You’re going onto the water personally?"
"Yes."
"You haven't gone into an active tactical strike in five years, Donovan," Greer said, staring him down. "You have an empire to run. If something happens to you out there, what happens to that child upstairs?"
Donovan looked at the monitor displaying Mave's sleeping face. She was curled around her lopsided elephant, her small shoulders rising and falling in rhythmic peace.
"If I don't eliminate Miller tonight, Greer," Donovan said quietly, "that child will spend the rest of her life running from men like him. I am going to make sure she never has to look over her shoulder again."
May you like
He picked up his heavy leather gloves from the table.
"Gear up," he commanded. "We move in twenty minutes."
