Chapter 4 - Digging Through Classified Files With My Most Trusted Driver
Liam waited for me in the idling sedan outside the wrought-iron gates, his breath pluming white in the freezing air. I slid into the passenger seat, tossing a thick manila folder onto the leather console between us.
"Pull the port authority records for Pier 44 from the night of the fire," I ordered without preamble. Liam didn't blink, shifting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb with professional smoothness.
"I already have them, boss," Liam said quietly, his eyes fixed on the snowy road ahead. "I kept them locked in my personal safe after Ewan passed away."
I turned my head sharply to look at him, realizing once again how little I truly knew about the men who bled for me. "Why didn't you show me before?" I asked, my voice tight.
"Because you weren't ready to burn your own house down to find the match," Liam answered flatly. He reached into his coat pocket and handed over a faded polaroid photograph.
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The image showed Celeste standing outside warehouse B just twenty minutes before the explosions tore the pier apart. She wasn't wearing a designer gown then; she wore a worker's jacket with the insignia of our worst West Side rivals.
"She planted the charges," Liam said. "And your uncle signed off on the municipal inspection permits."
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