Chapter 3 - The Pier 4 Trap
The old shipping warehouse on Pier 4 was a hollow, rusted cavern of corrugated metal and rotting wood. The gray afternoon sky cast long, eerie shadows across the concrete floor as I stepped inside. The smell of salt water and rust hung heavy in the damp air.
"Veronica?" I called out, my voice echoing off the high ceilings.
"Over here, stepsister," a voice purred.
But it wasn't Veronica’s voice.
From behind a massive stack of wooden shipping crates stepped a man in a sharp, tailored navy suit. He was in his late forties, with slicked-back gray hair and eyes as dead as a shark's. Julian Vance.
Behind him, looking terrified and disheveled, stood Veronica and her mother, Victoria. Victoria was clutching a leather-bound book to her chest—my father’s journal.
"You really are as naive as your father was, Scarlett," Julian Vance smiled, walking forward with an easy, terrifying confidence. "Did you really think your little family drama was just about a will? Your father was standing in the way of a billion-dollar waterfront development project. He wouldn't sell. So, we had to find a creative solution."
My blood ran cold. "You killed him."
"We accelerated his natural timeline," Victoria spoke up, her voice sharp and bitter. She stepped out from behind Julian. "He was weak, Scarlett. He cared more about broken soldiers than his own family. Julian offered us a way out. A life of true luxury. All we needed was for him to sign the deed. But he died before he could. So, we forged the will to get the authority to sell."
"And now, your billionaire uncle has ruined everything," Julian Vance’s smile vanished, replaced by a dark, murderous scowl. He signaled to three large men who emerged from the shadows behind me, cutting off my exit. "Alexander Sterling is too powerful to attack directly. But you? You are his Achilles' heel. He loves you because you look like his brother."
Julian pulled a silver revolver from his inner jacket pocket and pointed it directly at my chest.
"Here is what is going to happen, Scarlett," Julian said calmly. "You are going to call your uncle. You are going to tell him that you have decided to sign over the waterfront property to my development firm in exchange for your safety. If he refuses, or if he calls the police... well, accidents happen on old, abandoned piers all the time."
Veronica let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh. "You're not so tough now, are you, Scarlett? Where is your red dress today?"
I looked at the three thugs closing in on me, then at the gun pointed at my chest. My mind raced, but I remembered Alexander's words: Courage without strategy is just martyrdom.
I slowly reached into my pocket, pretending to reach for my phone. Instead, my fingers gripped the small pocket knife. But I knew a knife wouldn't win against a gun. I needed time.
"If you kill me, Alexander will destroy you, Julian," I said, keeping my voice steady. "He doesn't care about the money. He cares about vengeance. He will hunt you to the ends of the earth."
"Then I’ll just have to make sure he never finds your body," Julian replied coldly. "Make the call, Scarlett. Now."
Right as I opened my mouth to speak, a massive explosion rocked the front of the warehouse.
The metal doors tore off their hinges, flying into the darkness. A barrage of flashbang grenades detonated, filling the space with blinding white light and a deafening roar.
Julian screamed, covering his eyes. The three thugs were thrown to the ground by the concussive force.
Through the smoke, a squad of heavily armed private security operatives, wearing the Sterling crest on their tactical vests, swarmed the building. Leading them, rifle in hand and face set in stone, was Alexander.
"Get down!" Alexander roared.
I dropped to the concrete floor instantly. A gunshot echoed through the warehouse—Julian firing blindly into the smoke. But before he could fire a second time, a red laser dot appeared on his chest, and three security operatives tackled him to the ground, disarming him violently.
Alexander rushed to my side, lifting me up and checking me for injuries. "Are you alright?"
"I’m fine," I gasped, pointing toward the back. "Victoria has the journal! Don't let her escape!"
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Victoria and Veronica were trying to scramble through a side fire exit, but two operatives blocked their path, their weapons raised. Victoria dropped to her knees, weeping, as the leather-bound journal tumbled from her hands onto the dusty floor.
I walked over, picked up my father’s journal, and held it tightly against my chest. The truth was finally back where it belonged.
