Chapter 10 - The Sting at Midnight
The abandoned shipyard in Red Hook, Brooklyn, was freezing.
Fog rolled off the East River, coating the rusted iron cranes and rotting wood piers in a slick glaze of moisture.
Luke Vance stepped out of a battered gypsy cab, clutching his coat tightly around his chest. In his right pocket, his fingers gripped the cold metal of the encrypted USB drive.
“Five million,” he muttered to himself, his teeth chattering. “Five million in Zurich. A new passport. A penthouse in Buenos Aires. I’ll rebuild. I’ll make her pay.”
He walked through the rusted corrugated doors of Warehouse 4.
The interior was cavernous and dim, illuminated only by the headlights of a single black SUV parked in the center of the concrete floor.
Standing in front of the vehicle was a tall man in a heavy wool overcoat, his face shadowed by a flat cap.
“Thorne?” Luke called out, his voice echoing against the metal rafters. “I’m here! I have the source code!”
The man didn't move.
Luke walked closer, his boots crunching over gravel and broken glass. He pulled the silver drive from his pocket, holding it up like an offering.
“It’s all here,” Luke said eagerly. “The complete root architecture for the logistics grid. With this, Thorne Dynamics can override Sterling’s security protocols and reverse-engineer the entire system in forty-eight hours. Where’s the transfer confirmation?”
The headlights of the SUV suddenly flashed to high beams.
Luke shielded his eyes, blinded by the sudden glare.
From behind the vehicle, three more sets of headlights flicked on, bathing the entire warehouse in blinding, stadium-grade white light.
The sound of heavy tactical boots echoed from every doorway.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation! Drop the weapon and put your hands on your head!”
Luke froze, his breath catching in his throat.
Dozens of agents in tactical gear, carrying assault rifles and wearing body armor with FBI stenciled in yellow across their chests, poured into the warehouse from every angle.
The man in the wool overcoat stepped forward into the light.
It wasn't Richard Thorne.
It was Agent Miller, lead investigator for the Department of Justice’s Corporate Espionage Division.
Behind the agents, a sleek black town car pulled into the warehouse. The passenger door opened, and Marcus Cole stepped out, holding a tablet computer, looking impeccably groomed despite the hour.
“Luke Vance,” Marcus said smoothly, his voice cutting through the mechanical hum of idling engines. “Did you really think Richard Thorne would risk doing business with a disgraced, broke felon?”
Luke dropped the USB drive onto the concrete, his legs giving out beneath him. “No... no! Thorne called me! He promised me five million!”
“Thorne called the Sterling Group sixty seconds after your mother answered that phone,” Marcus chuckled, shaking his head with pity. “Richard Thorne may be a competitor, Luke, but he’s not an idiot. He buys shipping insurance from Arthur Sterling. He wasn't going to commit twenty years of federal treason for your stolen flash drive.”
Agent Miller kicked the silver USB drive away from Luke’s reach, scooping it into an evidence bag.
“Luke Vance, you are under arrest for attempted sale of proprietary defense-contracted intellectual property, theft of trade secrets, and interstate corporate espionage,” Agent Miller said, ratcheting a pair of cold steel handcuffs tightly around Luke’s uninjured wrist, then securing his broken arm with a transport chain.
“Samantha!” Luke screamed into the rafters, his voice cracking into a ragged, pathetic sob. “Samantha, I know you’re watching! Stop this! Please! I’m sorry! I’M SORRY!”
From the darkness beyond the warehouse doors, nobody answered.
May you like
Only the cold wind off the river blew through the cracked windows, carrying away the last echoes of a man who had traded his soul for arrogance and wound up with nothing at all.
***
