Chapter 11 - The Encounter
The interior of the black sedan smelled of expensive leather and gun oil. Daniel sat silently between two armed syndicate guards, his hands cuffed tightly behind his back with heavy plastic ties. Up front, Marcus adjusted the rearview mirror to keep a watchful eye on his former enforcer.
“You always were too sentimental for this line of work, Daniel,” Marcus said smoothly, breaking the heavy silence as the car sped onto the highway heading away from the city. “A domestic life, a white picket fence, a baby. Did you really think the syndicate would just let its best asset retire to play house?”
“I wasn't an asset anymore, Marcus,” Daniel replied coldly, his voice devoid of fear. “I bought my freedom when I handed over the Rotterdam accounts.”
“You handed over some of the accounts,” Marcus corrected, his tone turning sharp and acidic. “The core ledger—the names of every politician, judge, and buyer laundering money through our network—remains missing. And everyone in the inner circle believes you took it with you as an insurance policy.”
Daniel remained silent, his expression a mask of granite. He hadn't taken the ledger, but he knew exactly who had: Vince. Vince had been positioning himself to usurp Marcus for months, using Daniel as the perfect scapegoat to take the fall for the missing data.
“I don’t have the ledger,” Daniel said flatly.
“Then we’re going to find it,” Marcus replied smoothly as the car slowed down, turning off the main highway onto an old, overgrown dirt road leading toward an abandoned industrial shipyard by the bay. “And you are going to help us remember where you hid it.”
The car rolled to a halt in front of a decaying warehouse surrounded by rusted shipping containers and crashing gray waves. The ominous atmosphere of the desolate waterfront mirrored the bleakness of Daniel’s prospects.
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As the guards yanked Daniel out of the car and shoved him toward the heavy sliding doors of the warehouse, a familiar figure stepped out from the shadows near the entrance, wiping blood from his bruised jaw.
It was Vince. And in Vince’s hand was a secure satellite phone displaying a live GPS tracking signal pointing straight toward the northern highway.
