Chapter 9
The industrial district of Jersey City was buried under a thick layer of ocean fog when Ethan's car pulled up near the docks.
Rain dripped off the rusted metal roof of Riggs Auto Repair, a secluded garage standing near the water's edge.
Ethan pushed open the side pedestrian door, stepping quietly into the dark, oil-stained interior of the bay.
Inside, a man in grease-stained overalls was working under the chassis of an old pickup truck raised on a hydraulic lift.
Ethan walked up behind him, grabbing a heavy steel wrench resting on a nearby tool cart.
"Donald Riggs?" Ethan called out, his voice sharp and clear over the hum of the overhead halogen lights.
The mechanic slid out from under the truck on his rolling creeper, wiping his greasy hands on a blue rag.
"We're closed, pal," Riggs grunted, looking at Ethan's crisp attire with immediate suspicion.
"Come back on Monday."
Ethan stepped closer, letting the light illuminate his sharp features and cold, unblinking eyes.
"Four years ago, you signed a false police report regarding Clara Sterling's fatal accident on the Long Island Expressway," Ethan stated directly.
Riggs froze instantly, his face draining of all color as his hand drifted toward a heavy iron pry bar on the workbench.
"I don't know what you're talking about, buddy," Riggs stammered, taking a cautious step backward.
Ethan swung the heavy steel wrench with brutal speed, shattering the workbench right next to Riggs's hand.
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"Do not lie to me!" Ethan shouted, the sound echoing through the metal garage like a gunshot.
"They took my daughter last night, and I have nothing left to lose!"
