Chapter 7
The Brooklyn Navy Yard was dark, cavernous, and bathed in the eerie yellow glow of high-pressure sodium streetlights.
Old shipping containers were stacked three stories high, creating a labyrinth of rusty steel alleys along the water.
Ethan’s Maybach parked two blocks away in the shadows of an abandoned sugar refinery.
Rain dripped off the rusted corrugated roofs as Ethan and Marcus moved silently on foot through the shipping yard.
Marcus held his suppressed sidearm low at his side, his eyes scanning every shadow and crane platform.
“Pier 4 is right ahead,” Marcus whispered, pointing to a massive weathered warehouse near the dock.
A single luxury yacht was docked alongside the pier, its diesel engines idling with a low, vibrating hum.
The name painted on the yacht’s stern was The Blue Iris.
“That’s Montgomery’s boat,” Ethan whispered, his pulse hammering against his ribs.
They crept up to the side of the warehouse, peeking through a broken window pane near the ground.
Inside, two armed men in dark suits were standing guard near a set of heavy wooden crates.
In the center of the floor, tied to a metal folding chair, was a woman in a faded hospital gown.
Her blonde hair was long and unkempt, but her profile was instantly recognizable.
It was Clara.
Ethan’s heart stopped in his chest as tears choked his throat.
She was alive.
She was thin, pale, and bruised, but she was breathing.
Standing in front of Clara, holding an iron crowbar, was Senator Thomas Montgomery himself.
May you like
“Sign the property release forms, Clara,” Senator Montgomery demanded, slapping a stack of paper against her cheek.
“Once you sign over the land in Vermont, I’ll let you live out your life in South America.”
