Chapter 7 - INSIDE YARD FOURTEEN
The front office of the warehouse smelled like stale coffee, cheap printer toner, and underlying musk.
A bored-looking security guard with a greasy ponytail and an unbuttoned uniform shirt was leaning back in his swivel chair, scrolling through his phone while an old television droned quietly in the corner.
The bell above the door chimed as I walked in, clicking my heels purposefully against the linoleum tile.
The guard looked up, frowning. "We're closed. Delivery gates are around back."
I didn't break stride. I pulled the laminated badge from my collar, flashing it with practiced authority right in his face. "State Department of Agriculture and Pet Welfare. Unannounced compliance audit. Inspection number four-zero-eight-two."
The guard blinked heavily, struggling to focus on the ID card. "Audit? Nobody said anything about an audit tonight."
"That's kind of the point of an unannounced audit, officer," I snapped, adopting a sharp, bureaucratic tone that surprised even myself. "Now, I need immediate access to the main terminal registry and the live transit manifests for the evening shift. Or I can call the state police barracks right now and have them impound every container currently sitting on your pier."
Panic flickered in the guard's eyes. Syndicate employees didn't fear state inspectors; they feared drawing unnecessary attention that could bring federal heat down on their bosses.
"Look, lady, the manager isn't here—"
Before he could finish his sentence, the entire warehouse plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
The overhead fluorescent tubes flickered violently once and died. Outside, the humming floodlights blinked out, leaving only the dull amber glow of emergency exit signs casting long, eerie red streaks across the room.
"What the hell?" the guard cursed, fumbling for his desk flashlight.
It was my cue.
Before he could grab his weapon or hit the desk alarm, I lunged forward across the counter, grabbing a heavy stapler, and slammed it down onto the desk right beside his head with a resounding CRACK.
"Don't move," I hissed, echoing Roman’s earlier command with surprising conviction.
The guard froze, his hands shooting up in the air. "Okay, okay! Easy! The terminal is right behind the back door! Password is taped to the underside of the keyboard!"
I didn't waste a second. I ripped open the swinging door behind the counter, dashed down a short, dimly lit hallway, and burst into the second-floor control office.
The main computer console glowed brightly in the dark room, casting a green reflection across my face. I yanked a USB flash drive from my pocket—given to me by Julian before we left—and shoved it into the USB port.
A command prompt window popped up instantly. Downloading shipping_manifests_2026.enc... [12%... 45%... 80%... 100%].
"Got you," I whispered.
As I pulled the drive free, the office door behind me slammed open with a deafening crash.
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I spun around. A massive, heavily tattooed man in a tactical vest stood in the doorway, holding a silenced pistol aimed straight at my chest.
"Well, well," the man sneered, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent in the green computer light. "Looks like we have a rat in the cage."
