Chapter 7 - The Hostage and the WolfInside the depot, the smell of diesel oil and rusted steel hung thick. Julian walked down the central corridor, his dress boots crunching over shards of glass and gravel.
"You're late, little brother," a voice echoed from above.
Marcus sat on a high catwalk railing, dangling an unlit cigar between two calloused fingers. Below him, tied to a wooden pillar with coarse rope, was Leo. The boy’s face was smeared with soot, his lips chapped blue from the bitter draft.
"Uncle Julian!" Leo cried, straining against the rope.
"Stay still, Leo," Julian called out, keeping his voice steady and calm. He looked up at Marcus. "Cut him loose. The drives are in my coat. All twelve offshore routing keys, unredacted."
Marcus climbed down the iron ladder with deliberate, mocking slowness. "Twelve keys. Do you have any idea how much blood was spilled to keep those accounts dormant, Julian? Father built that empire, and you handed it over to federal prosecutors like a schoolboy returning lost books."
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"Father died a convicted felon, Marcus!" Julian shouted, the cold air carrying his voice across the rafters. "He built a mausoleum, not an empire. Look at that child. He is eight years old. What does he have to do with Father’s sins?"
"He has her blood," Marcus replied, stepping into the dim light. Behind him, two men in heavy tactical gear stepped from the shadows, their rifles leveled at Julian’s chest. "Elena knew what she was stealing when she walked out of my office in Boston."
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