Chapter 9 - The Last Stand
“How did he get bail?” Lucian demanded, standing straight up, his eyes turning to cold liquid iron. “The federal judge set it at ten million dollars.”
“His father’s estate in Madrid put up the collateral,” Marcus explained over the radio. “And Don Lucian… he didn't head for the airport. He took six heavily armed mercenaries and stormed the central control office at Pier 4. He has your night manager… and he’s demanding to see Vivien.”
Vivien stood up from her chair instantly, her face turning pale. “Pier 4 is where we keep the main server for the new logistics network. If he destroys those drives, six months of data is gone.”
Lucian pulled a matte-black pistol from his desk drawer, checking the magazine with a sharp clack. “He’s not interested in the drives, Vivien. He knows he’s going to prison forever once the trial starts. He’s a dead man walking, and he wants to take you with him.”
“I’m coming with you,” Vivien said, reaching for her coat.
Lucian stopped, catching her arm gently. “No. It’s too dangerous.”
“Pier 4 has a secondary security layout that only I know how to navigate,” Vivien argued, looking straight into his eyes without fear. “If you blow your way through the front door, he’ll kill the manager before you reach the control room. You need me to open the maintenance access from the harbor side.”
Lucian stared at her, searching her face for any sign of hesitation. He found none.
“If anything happens to you—” Lucian began.
“Nothing is going to happen to me,” Vivien interrupted softly, resting her hand over his gun. “We finish this tonight.”
Twenty minutes later, two black speedboats glided silently through the dark waters of Biscayne Bay, cutting off their engines as they drifted into the shadow of Pier 4.
The dock was quiet, illuminated only by high-pressure halogen lamps buzzing overhead. Rain had begun to fall again—soft, cold drops that rippled the black surface of the water.
Lucian, Vivien, and six Reyes tactical operators scaled the rusted iron ladder leading to the under-deck maintenance catwalk.
Vivien led the way through the narrow, dark metal crawlspaces, her movements silent and deliberate. She stopped at a heavy steel door near the main server room, pulling out a master keycard she had kept on her ring.
She swiped the card. The electronic lock beeped softly, red turning to green.
Inside the glass-walled control room, Damian Torres stood under the fluorescent lights, holding an assault rifle, his clothes stained, his eyes wide and frantic like a cornered animal. The Reyes night manager was zip-tied to a chair in the center of the room, blood dripping from his lip.
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“Where is she?!” Damian screamed at the manager, kicking the base of the chair. “Where is Reyes hiding her?!”
The steel door behind Damian swung open with a deafening crash.
