Chapter 9 - The Final Audit
By Thursday morning, Marcus had traced the extortion package to a rundown commercial warehouse near the Brooklyn Navy Yard—a dusty, abandoned distribution hub that Vincent’s old associates had used for years as an off-the-books meeting spot.
The rain was lashing against the concrete streets in sheets as my three-car convoy of matte-black SUVs pulled up silently to the rusted loading docks of the warehouse.
Four tactical operators spilled out of the lead vehicle, weapons drawn, taking up immediate positions around the perimeter.
I stepped out of the center vehicle, pulling the collar of my heavy black overcoat up against the wind.
“Is the perimeter secure?” I asked Marcus as he jogged over to my side.
“ Completely locked down, boss,” Marcus reported, tapping his earpiece. “There are three men inside the main office on the second floor. One of them is a former municipal inspector tied to Arthur Vance’s payroll. The other two are hired muscle from the New Jersey docks.”
“Good,” I said, pulling the heavy steel side door open with a sharp creak. “Let’s go conduct an audit.”
We moved through the dark, cavernous warehouse with the silent, terrifying efficiency of ghosts. The dripping of rainwater from the corrugated roof echoed like ticking clock hands in the gloom.
We reached the metal staircase leading up to the second-floor office. A thin sliver of yellow light cut out from beneath the frosted glass door, accompanied by the muffled sound of men laughing and arguing over a poker game.
I didn't knock.
With a single, powerful kick of my boot, the metal-reinforced door shattered inward, tearing off its hinges and crashing onto the concrete floor with a deafening bang.
“FBI! Federal—!” one of the men started shouting instinctively, scrambling backward from the poker table.
Then he saw my face.
The three men froze in absolute terror.
Standing in the center of the room was Frank Rossi—a greasy, aging enforcer who had worked under my father before being pushed out during my corporate restructuring. On the table in front of him sat a stack of cash, two handguns, and a second copy of the extortion photos featuring Mia at the park.
Rossi’s hand hovered frantically over his shoulder holster, but before his fingers could even graze the grip of his weapon, Marcus and two tactical operators were across the room. They slammed Rossi down hard onto the poker table, pinning his face against the green felt, while the other two enforcers were disarmed and kicked to their knees in the corner with their hands locked behind their heads.
I walked slowly into the center of the office, my shoes crunching on splinters of broken door frame.
I stopped right in front of the poker table, looking down at Frank Rossi as he struggled uselessly against Marcus’s iron grip.
“Well, Frank,” I said softly, picking up one of the photographs of Mia from the table. I stared at the little girl’s smiling face, then slowly looked up at Rossi with eyes burning with cold fury. “I hear you’re branching out into photography. A bit creepy, don't you think?”
Rossi spat a glob of blood onto the felt, trying to maintain a tough facade through his broken pride. “You can't touch me, Moretti! We’re partners in the old syndicate! You think you can just erase the past and play CEO? The boys in New Jersey are backing us! If you take us out, your entire freight network goes up in flames by Monday!”
“There are no partners left, Frank,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “And there is no old syndicate. There is only my corporation, my rules, and my people.”
I dropped the photograph onto the table, pulled out my fountain pen, and uncapped it with a sharp click.
“Marcus.”
“Boss?”
“Pack these three up and ship them out on the midnight freighter heading for international waters. Let them explain their business model to the shipping cartels in South America. I hear they have a very high turnover rate for consultants.”
“Consider it done,” Marcus grinned grimly.
May you like
As Rossi began screaming frantic, panicked oaths and thrashing against the operators hauling him toward the door, I turned around and walked out into the cool, cleansing rain.
The audit was complete. The books were balanced. And the shadows that had tried to creep back into my world had been permanently locked out in the cold.
