Chapter 9 - The Meeting At The Docks
Midnight descended over the old shipping docks in Brooklyn, where cold Atlantic winds whipped across the dark, choppy water.
Victor stepped out of his black Mercedes wearing his light gray overcoat, his hand resting inside his coat pocket near a concealed firearm.
Waiting by the rusted metal crane was a tall man in a charcoal trench coat, smoking a Cuban cigar in the dim moonlight.
“You’re late, Victor,” the man said with a smooth, aristocratic British accent, turning around to face the master of the Connecticut estate.
“I had business to finish at home, Lord Sterling,” Victor replied, walking slowly toward him across the wet concrete.
“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” Sterling said, tossing a leather briefcase onto a wooden crate between them.
“You want the rest of the photographs proving you assumed a dead man’s identity to marry into the Vance family fortune?”
“Name your price,” Victor stated flatly, his eyes locked onto the British investor with deadly precision.
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“I don't want money, Victor,” Sterling smiled coldly, taking a slow puff of his cigar.
“I want the black digital voice recorder you used to put Elena away. And I want full control of your European shipping routes.”
