Nothing in my world frightened me anymore. I’d watched hundreds of millions of dollars change hands across private tables

The rain was falling in torrential sheets over Commencement Bay, turning the dark waters of Puget Sound into a churning cauldron of gray mist and foam.

The abandoned fish cannery sat at the end of a long, rusted wooden pier, its corrugated iron roof rattling loudly against the ocean wind. Old shipping crates, rusted machinery, and rotting timber littered the perimeter, creating a dark, desolate maze.

Four black armored Yukons pulled up to the edge of the pier, their headlights cutting through the heavy fog.

I stepped out of the lead vehicle, pulling my coat tight against the bitter sea wind. Behind me, eight of my top operatives stepped out into the rain, all equipped with tactical gear, suppressed weapons, and night-vision optics.

Gabe walked up beside me, racking the slide of his tactical shotgun. “Boss, heat sensors show six men inside the main office structure at the back of the cannery. Sterling is in the secondary office overlooking the loading dock.”

“No survivors among his hired guards if they raise a weapon,” I commanded coldly. “I want Sterling alive. He answers to me before he dies.”

“Understood, sir,” Gabe said, gesturing to the team. “Move in.”

We advanced along the wooden pier in three tactical elements, our footsteps silent against the wet timber.

Gabe kicked open the side entry door of the cannery with a heavy crack.

Before Sterling’s guards could react, my team flooded the interior space. The darkness echoed with the sharp, rhythmic pop-pop-pop of suppressed gunfire cutting through the ambient sound of the rain. Two guards fell near the entrance, dropping their weapons onto the concrete floor. Three more were disarmed and neutralized in the main processing room before they could clear their holsters.

In less than ninety seconds, the entire cannery was secured.

I walked through the dark, cavernous processing hall, my shoes echoing off the wet concrete floor, heading straight for the second-floor office behind the reinforced glass window.

Gabe kicked open the office door.

Victor Sterling was scrambling backward behind a massive oak desk, desperately trying to load a nickel-plated .38 revolver with trembling hands. He was fifty years old, with thinning silver hair, pockmarked skin, and eyes filled with wild, frantic desperation.

“Stay back!” Sterling shrieked, pointing the shaking revolver toward the doorway. “Stay back, Vance! I swear to God I’ll shoot!”

I walked into the room, completely ignoring the gun pointed at my chest. I reached out with my left hand, grabbed the barrel of the revolver, twisted it violently out of his grip, and backhanded him across the face with the heavy steel frame.

Sterling let out a bloody yell, crashing sideways over his desk and spilling papers, phones, and whiskey bottles onto the floor.

I set the revolver onto the desk, reached down, grabbed Sterling by his lapels, and dragged him up until he was pinned against the wall.

“Julian... please...” Sterling choked out, blood leaking from his split lip. “It... it was business! It was just business!”

“Business?” I growled, my face inches from his. “You poisoned the woman I love for six months. You sent a hitman to murder three five-year-old girls in their sleep.”

Sterling’s eyes filled with pure terror. “I didn't know about the girls! I swear to you, Hayes told me she was alone! I just wanted to use her to force you into giving up the harbor terminals!”

“You failed, Victor,” I whispered. “Your mole, Hayes, is currently in federal custody. Your front company, Crestview, has been seized. And your life ends tonight.”

“You can't kill me!” Sterling pleaded, his hands clawing uselessly at my grip. “If I die, the documents I filed with the state prosecutor’s office go public! They’ll indict you for the harbor operations five years ago!”

I leaned in closer, my voice dropping into an icy whisper.

“Did you really think I didn't clear those files three years ago, Victor?” I asked softly. “I own the prosecutor’s office. I own the harbor commission. You have nothing left. No leverage, no money, no men, and no time.”

I turned my head toward Gabe. “Take him to the deep water dock. Tie thirty pounds of iron chain to his ankles, and let the Puget Sound clean up the trash.”

“No! No! Vance! Please!” Sterling screamed, thrashing wildly as Gabe and Marcus grabbed his arms and dragged him out of the office, his desperate shrieks echoing through the cavernous cannery until the heavy ocean wind swallowed them whole.

I stood alone in the quiet office, listening to the rain beat against the glass window.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the direct line to St. Catherine Medical Center.

“Dr. Mercer,” I said the moment the call connected.

“Julian,” Mercer’s voice came back, sounding brighter than it had all day. “I was just about to call you. The toxicologist administered the neutralizing agent two hours ago. Her vitals have completely stabilized.”

My chest lifted, a massive weight finally lifting off my heart. “Is she awake?”