Chapter 88 - Ashes on the Hudson
The pre-dawn fog hung heavy and suffocating over the East River as Ethan’s armored convoy sped across the Queensboro Bridge.
Marcus drove the lead SUV, his hands steady on the wheel, while Ethan sat in the passenger seat, checking the magazine of his tactical rifle. In the rear seats, four elite operatives Ethan had personally vetted over the last five years sat in stony silence, their night-vision optics ready.
"The location is an old maritime warehouse near Hunter's Point," Marcus reported, glancing at the navigation overlay. "Deep water access, private docks, reinforced concrete construction built during the Cold War. If Charles has been running his shadow operations from there, it’s practically a fortress."
"He didn't build it to defend against us," Ethan replied, staring out at the Manhattan skyline glittering across the black water. "He built it to defend against the Council. Victoria was terrified of him. She thought she was being clever, but Charles played her like a cheap violin."
"Ethan," Marcus said cautiously, his voice dropping. "When we walk in there... if he tries to take Grace's bloodline registry..."
"He won't," Ethan said cold as ice. "Grace is safe with Dr. Thorne in the vault beneath St. Jude’s, guarded by twelve men who don't answer to the Sterling family name, only to Olivia. My father thinks he holds all the leverage because of the financial liquidation. He still doesn't understand that I don't care about the money. I never did."
Suddenly, a massive orange fireball erupted in the distance, illuminating the industrial shoreline of Long Island City.
A shockwave rattled the heavy armored windows of the SUV.
"What was that?!" Marcus hit the brakes, stabilizing the vehicle as debris and black smoke billowed into the predawn sky.
Marcus pulled up the satellite feed on the central console. His face went pale. "The Hunter's Point warehouse. It's on fire. It's been hit by multiple high-explosive thermite charges."
"Step on it!" Ethan commanded.
The SUV accelerated, tires screaming across the wet asphalt as they tore off the bridge ramp and plunged into the industrial maze of the waterfront.
They arrived at the warehouse gates three minutes later. The outer security booth was flattened; two guard vehicles were burning intensely.
Ethan kicked his door open, raising his rifle as he advanced through the thick, choking smoke. "Perimeter sweep! Move!"
They breached the main pedestrian door of the burning facility. The interior was a cavernous ruin of twisted metal, shattered computer servers, and blazing office partitions. Fire suppression systems were spraying overhead, creating a blinding mix of steam and ash.
In the center of the warehouse, amidst the ruins of a destroyed server room, lay a dozen bodies clad in tactical gear identical to the men who had ambushed them at the courthouse.
And in the center of the room, strapped to his high-backed wheelchair, sat Charles Sterling.
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He was slumped forward, his chest drenched in blood, surrounded by the smoking remnants of his destroyed mainframes.
***
