Chapter 7 - The Final Ledger
The stronghold of Marcus Vance was an abandoned rail-yard warehouse on the industrial docks—dark, sprawling, and echoing with the sound of lapping black water against concrete pilings.
Dominic didn't wait for Vance to regroup. By 3:00 AM, a convoy of Cray Enterprises vehicles had surrounded the warehouse, cutting off all escape routes. Dominic led the breach himself, moving through the shadowed corridors with terrifying efficiency, dismantling Vance’s remaining inner circle one by one until only the syndicate boss was left cornered in his second-floor office.
I watched from the safety of the lead command vehicle via tactical feed, my fingers crossed tight as I monitored the digital perimeter feeds to ensure no ambushes were waiting.
Inside the office, Marcus Vance—slick, desperate, and bleeding from a shrapnel wound—sat behind a massive metal desk, holding a detonator switch in his trembling hand.
“You’re too late, Cray!” Vance screamed, his voice echoing off the concrete walls as Dominic stepped through the splintered double doors. “If I press this switch, the entire dock facility—including your shipping terminals and half your offshore cash reserves—goes up in smoke!”
Dominic stopped ten feet away. He didn't raise his weapon. He simply stared at Vance with cold, pitying contempt.
“You think this is about money, Marcus?” Dominic’s voice resonated through the empty warehouse, calm and lethal. “You thought because I was deaf for three years, I was weak. You thought you could buy my managers, threaten my operations, and target innocent people to carve out a kingdom.”
“I built this city’s underworld!” Vance snarled, his thumb hovering over the red button. “You just sat in your mansion playing aristocrat!”
“No,” Dominic stepped closer, his boots crunching on broken glass. “I built an empire on loyalty and silence. And you made one fatal mistake.”
“What?!” Vance yelled.
“You threatened my family,” Dominic whispered.
Before Vance could depress the trigger, a red laser dot flickered across his wrist. From the catwalk above, Mateo’s suppressed rifle barked once.
Clack.
A bullet pierced Vance’s right wrist with surgical precision, shattering the detonator switch and sending it spinning harmlessly across the concrete floor. Vance shrieked, clutching his bleeding arm as Mateo dropped silently from the catwalk, pinning him to the floor in a matter of seconds.
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Dominic walked forward, standing over the defeated cartel boss. He reached down, kicking the shattered detonator away, before turning his back on him entirely.
“Clean up the mess, Mateo,” Dominic ordered coldly. “Hand the survivors over to the federal strike force. Tell them Cray Enterprises is officially clearing house.”
