Chapter 8 - The Ashes of Warehouse 12
The night of April 12th arrived with a howling wind that drove heavy waves against the rusted pilings of the old south docks. Pier 4 was abandoned—a graveyard of crumbling brick buildings and rotting wooden boardwalks that the city had forgotten decades ago.
Warehouse 12 stood at the very end of the pier. Its corrugated tin roof was collapsed in places, and its wooden walls were scorched black from the fire that had consumed it twenty years prior.
Victor stood at the entrance, wearing a heavy tactical coat, his hand resting on his weapon. He took a deep breath, smelling the familiar, haunting mix of salt water, old soot, and damp wood.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door. It creaked loudly on rusted hinges.
Inside, the vast warehouse was lit by dozens of flickering candles placed in a wide circle around the center of the concrete floor. Standing in the middle of the candlelit circle, illuminated by the orange glow, was an elderly man leaning heavily on a carved wooden cane. He wore an immaculate charcoal suit and a wide-brimmed fedora.
Victor stepped into the circle, his leather boots crunching over broken glass.
"I wondered if you would come alone, Victor," the old man said. His voice was raspy, dry, like dry leaves scraping across concrete.
Victor stopped ten feet away, his eyes narrowing into cold slits as he recognized the posture, the voice, and the silver ring on the man’s hand.
"Dominic Vance," Victor said, his voice dropping into a deadly register. "My father's primary advisor."
The old man chuckled softly, raising his head. Half of his face was covered in terrible, white burn scars—a permanent souvenir from the fire twenty years ago.
"I spent twenty years in hiding, Victor," Vance said, his dark eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "Recovering in overseas hospitals, rebuilding my strength, waiting for you to finish off all the lesser fools who thought they could take your father's throne."
"You set the fire," Victor said, the realization settling into his chest like a lead weight. "It wasn't the rival families. It was you."
"Your father was weak, Victor!" Vance spat, his raspy voice rising with bitter rage. "He wanted to turn our shipping empire into a legal, legitimate enterprise! He wanted to abandon the real power! I built that empire alongside him, and I refused to let him destroy it with his morals!"
"So you burned him alive," Victor whispered, his hand tightening around his gun grip.
"I tried to burn you both!" Vance shouted, striking his cane against the floor. "But you survived. You took his place. And for twenty years, you built an empire even greater than his! But you made the same pathetic mistake your father made, Victor."
Victor frowned slightly. "What are you talking about?"
"You grew soft," Vance sneered, a cruel, mocking smile spreading across his scarred face. "I've been watching your estate for months. I saw how you brought that pathetic maid into your inner circle. I saw how you risked your entire empire for a girl who cleans floors!"
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Victor’s blood ran cold. "Leave Lily out of this, Vance."
"Oh, it's far too late for that, Victor," Vance cackled softly. "Did you really think I sent that watch just to get you into this warehouse? I knew you'd come here alone to protect your father's honor. Which left your precious estate wide open."
