Chapter 25 - The Federal Intercept
Special Agent Marcus Vance stepped through the broken blast doors of Havenwood flanked by twelve tactical agents in dark navy windbreakers bearing federal insignias. His sharp eyes scanned the wreckage of the foyer—the shattered porcelain, the spent shell casings, and Julian Graves kneeling on the floor with zip-ties biting into his wrists.
"Mr. Mercer?" Agent Vance asked, lowering his service weapon as Daniel stepped up from the basement corridor, his clothes covered in soot and his arm bleeding from a flying glass shard.
"I’m Daniel Mercer," Daniel said, extending a hand. "The originals of the 1940 escrow account and Charles Bellamy’s secret port manifests are right here."
Agent Vance took the leather binder with reverent caution. "We’ve had Charles Bellamy under surveillance for eighteen months, Mr. Mercer. We knew he was moving unregistered cargo through the north terminal, but we couldn't pierce his maritime shielding without the historical escrow charters. Your mother’s documentation proved that the deep-water berths Bellamy was using were never legally his to lease."
"And the armed goons?" Daniel pointed toward Graves, who was glaring at the floor in sullen fury.
"Mr. Graves has an extradition warrant waiting for him in three separate states," Vance said coldly. "He won't be attending Charles Bellamy’s victory gala tonight."
"Victoria is at that gala," Natalie said, stepping forward with her laptop screen illuminated. "Charles scheduled a midnight press conference at the Port Authority high-rise downtown. He’s announcing the final sale of the terminal to an offshore consortium in thirty minutes. Victoria is on the podium with him."
Daniel checked his watch. 11:35 PM.
The humiliation that began at a wedding table, with dirty water dripping from his mother's grey hair, was scheduled to conclude with Charles Bellamy toasting his own triumph in front of the city's press corps.
"Agent Vance," Daniel said, his eyes hard as flint. "Can your helicopter get us downtown in fifteen minutes?"
May you like
Vance looked at Daniel, seeing the fire of an eighty-year-old debt burning in his eyes, and gave a sharp nod. "We have three seats open. Let's shut this syndicate down."
***
