Chapter 2 - The Shocking Truth About Ewan And Pier Forty-Four
The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and frozen winter air blowing against the double-paned glass. Delia Marie Marlowe looked at me with eyes that held the accumulated weight of six unbroken years of silence.
"Ewan didn't die in that fire by accident," she began, her voice barely louder than the hum of the heart monitor.
"The official report said faulty wiring in warehouse section B," I replied, my jaw tightening into stone. Delia shook her head against the crisp white hospital pillows, a bitter smile touching her pale lips.
"Wiring doesn't smell like military-grade phosphorus, Mr. Vance," she whispered. "And blueprints don't vanish from city hall unless someone inside the family paid to have them burned."
The words hit me like a physical blow to the chest, echoing the cold reality of South Side politics. Ewan had been the golden boy of our family, the one slated to take over legitimate shipping lines while I managed the darker ledger.
"Celeste was there that night," Delia continued, closing her eyes as the memory washed over her frail frame. "She wasn't your fiancée then; she was the daughter of the West Side rival you thought you had bought off."
My blood turned to ice in my veins as the terrifying pieces clicked into a horrifying alignment. Celeste hadn't stumbled into my life by chance two years ago; she had infiltrated my estate to finish what the fire at Pier 44 started.
May you like
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I demanded, leaning closer to the hospital bed. Delia opened her eyes, looking straight into my dark gaze with unwavering courage.
"Because nobody in this city listens to a nurse until the blood is already on the floor," she answered softly.
Related Stories
