Chapter 8 - THE DOCKSIDE MEETING
The rain had turned into a thick, suffocating fog by midnight over the East River docks. Rusted shipping containers towered over the dark asphalt, their metallic frames dripping with salt water and grime.
Julian stood beneath the dim yellow glow of a streetlamp, shivering in a thin coat he had purchased from a thrift store in Queens. His once-impeccable short brown hair was messy, and his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep.
A blacked-out SUV pulled slowly out of the shadows, its engine idling with a low, threatening rumble that filled the damp air. The rear tinted window slid down three inches, revealing the silhouette of a man wearing a bespoke dark suit.
"You failed me, Julian," a heavy voice said from inside the vehicle, carrying a distinct European accent. "We gave you three years to gain control of Samantha's private shipping logs, and you lost everything in a single afternoon because of a cheap hotel fling."
"I can get the files!" Julian promised desperately, taking a step closer to the door before a large guard stepped out from the driver's side to block him. "Samantha still has emotional ties to me! I just need one more week to access her personal laptop!"
The man in the back seat let out a cold, sharp laugh that chilled Julian to the bone. "Samantha never had emotional ties to you, Julian. She hired you five years ago because her father needed a frontman who was arrogant enough to draw our attention away from her real operations."
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Julian froze, his mouth opening in sheer horror as the truth sliced through his remaining pride. "What... what are you talking about?"
"You were never the hunter, Julian," the voice purred through the dark. "You were simply the shiny piece of bait she used to catch my syndicate."
