Chapter 7 - The Confrontation in the Shadows
I held my breath, pressing my back flat against the cold concrete wall behind the wooden pallets. My heart pounded so loudly in my ears I was certain whoever was coming down the stairs would hear it.
The heavy metal door at the top of the stairs creaked open, and the beam of a high-powered flashlight cut through the gloom of the sub-level.
"Hey! Who left that side gate unlatched?" a gruff voice called out.
Footsteps descended the metal stairs—heavy, deliberate, and getting closer.
Through a narrow gap between the wooden crates, I saw a large man in a security vest holding a heavy-duty flashlight and a Glock sidearm holstered at his hip. It was one of Rossi’s dock guards. He was walking directly toward our corner of the room, shining his light along the rows of crates.
Marcus remained completely motionless beside me, his hand resting calmly on the combat knife strapped to his thigh, waiting for the exact right moment to neutralize the threat without making noise if the guard got too close.
The guard stopped ten feet from our hiding spot, shining his light directly at the open iron grate leading to the drainage culvert. He muttered a curse under his breath, leaning down to inspect the loosened bolts.
This was our window.
Before the guard could stand back up and turn around, Marcus moved with blinding, fluid speed. He stepped out from behind the crates, closed the distance in two silent strides, and applied a swift, precise chokehold from behind. The guard let out a muffled gasp as the air was cut off, his eyes widening in shock before his limbs went limp. Marcus caught him effortlessly before he hit the concrete, lowering him quietly to the floor.
"He's out cold," Marcus whispered, checking the guard's pulse. "We've got maybe five minutes before someone calls for a check-in."
"Let's grab the ledger and get out of here," I urged, my adrenaline spiking.
Marcus grabbed the leather-bound ledger from the metal desk, shoved it into his tactical backpack, and snapped a few final wide-angle shots of the entire room. "Done. Let's move before the welcoming committee arrives."
We retraced our steps through the drainage culvert, splashing through the freezing water until we emerged back into the safety of the dark street behind the abandoned fish-processing plant. Climbing back into the Ford Explorer, Marcus threw the vehicle into gear and pulled away from the docks without turning on the headlights until we were three blocks clear of the area.
As we drove back toward my duplex, the first pale rays of Sunday morning light began to streak across the eastern sky.
"We have everything we need to dismantle Grayson Enterprises and put Vinnie Rossi and Eleanor behind bars for the rest of their natural lives," Marcus said, keeping his eyes on the road. "But that leaves the most important part of the equation."
"Sophia," I said, my voice tight. "She's supposed to be returned to me this afternoon at 4:00 PM at the neutral drop-off point at the public park downtown."
Marcus shook his head slowly. "Do you honestly think Eleanor and Rossi are just going to show up and hand your daughter back after we just raided their warehouse records? They know you found that bag. Even if they don't know we were at the docks tonight, they know you have the note and the package. They won't risk letting you walk away with Sophia."
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A cold dread settled deep into my stomach. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying the drop-off at the park is a trap," Marcus stated bluntly. "They aren't bringing Sophia to return her. They're bringing her to use as leverage—or worse, to ensure you never make it to court."
