Chapter 8 - The Dockland Standoff
The rain had turned into a thick, blinding fog by the time I pulled my sedan onto the rusted access road of Pier 42.
The abandoned industrial docklands on the south side of Chicago were surrounded by rotting wooden pilings, shipping containers, and the dark, restless waters of Lake Michigan. It was cold, desolate, and completely removed from the city lights.
I killed my headlights, clutching the USB drive in my coat pocket. My phone was on the dashboard, recording audio on a private cloud backup.
I stepped out of the car into the mud.
A dark SUV was parked fifty yards ahead beneath a flickering security light. As I approached, the doors opened, and two large men in tactical jackets stepped out, followed by a third man carrying an umbrella.
Richard Sullivan.
Richard looked completely unimpressed by the rain, stepping over the mud in his polished leather shoes.
“You’re an idiot, Michael,” Richard said, his voice echoing off the corrugated iron of a nearby shipping container. “I offered you a promotion, a doubled salary, and a peaceful life. Instead, you go meeting my wife in dark parking garages.”
“Where is my son, Richard?” I demanded, stepping into the circle of light.
“Lucas is perfectly safe,” Richard replied, taking a sip from a silver flask. “My men are outside your house in Naperville. They are simply watching. But if you don't hand over that drive in the next thirty seconds, I will give them the order to throw a Molotov cocktail through your living room window.”
“You won't do that,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “That’s arson and attempted murder. You’d spend the rest of your life in maximum security.”
Richard laughed—a dry, terrifying sound.
“You think the police care about a fire in Naperville? I own the precinct commander in your district, Michael. I own the judges who issue search warrants. You are a mid-level manager with a dying career. I am Richard Sullivan. I run this city’s supply chain.”
He held out his hand. “Give me the drive.”
I reached into my pocket, pulling out the silver USB drive. I held it up between my thumb and forefinger.
“Eleanor told me everything, Richard,” I said loudly, making sure my phone caught every word over the cloud link. “She told me how you bought Valerie’s father’s debt. How you forced her into surrogacy. How you stole my twin boys!”
“I didn't steal anything!” Richard snapped, his composure finally cracking into pure, ugly rage. “I bought what was offered! Valerie took the money! She signed the papers!”
“Under extortion!” I roared. “You threatened my life! You threatened her father!”
“It doesn't matter!” Richard yelled, stepping closer, his men moving in behind him. “I raised Leo! He has my name! He lives in my house! You have no power here, Michael! Hand over the drive or your life ends tonight on this dock!”
“I don't think so, Richard,” a deep voice boomed over a loudspeaker from the fog behind us.
Blinding white spotlights suddenly slashed through the darkness, illuminating the entire dock.
May you like
Three black law enforcement vans smashed through the rusty chain-link fence at the edge of the pier, their tires screeching on the wet asphalt. Dozens of heavily armed federal agents leaped from the vehicles, rifles raised, tactical lights cutting through the rain.
“FEDERAL AGENTS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS! GET ON THE GROUND NOW!”
