Chapter 9 - The Devil's Pier
The rain lashed against the windshield of Eleanor’s black SUV as she sped through the industrial outskirts of the coastal district. Beside her in the passenger seat, Clara clutched her bruised stomach, her face chalk-white, the sheriff’s service weapon resting in her trembling lap. Cole was bound and gagged in the trunk, stuffed between emergency road flares and a tire iron.
""You should have stayed at the hospital,"" Eleanor said through clenched teeth, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. ""You're bleeding internally, Clara. If you lose this baby, you lose your life.""
""If Julian kills Lucas, I have no life left anyway,"" Clara answered, her voice trembling but resolute. ""Lucas is all I have. He was the one who gathered the banking records. He was the one who was going to take me away from Julian’s madness.""
The headlights pierced the swirling coastal fog, revealing Pier 44—a decommissioned shipping depot owned by Vance Logistics. A rusted, seaworthy yacht sat idling in the dark water, diesel fumes mixing with the salt air. On the wooden dock stood two figures beneath the yellow glow of a single halogen work light: Julian, clad in a heavy trench coat, and a younger, battered man on his knees, hands zip-tied behind his back.
Eleanor slammed the SUV into park, cutting the headlights. The silence inside the vehicle was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic thumping of the wipers.
""He won't let either of us walk away from this dock,"" Eleanor said, turning to Clara.
""I know,"" Clara replied, clicking the safety off the handgun.
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As they opened their doors and stepped into the freezing rain, the cabin door of the yacht swung wide. A tall, silhouetted figure emerged onto the deck, leaning heavily on an ebony cane with a silver eagle’s head.
Eleanor froze. Seven years of mourning, seven years of running an empire alone, collapsed into ash as Arthur Vance stepped into the harsh yellow light.
