Chapter 3 - The Waterfront War
Daniel’s expression did not change, but the air in the room grew suffocatingly heavy. He let go of Hannah's hand and turned to Martin.
"Tell the men at the entrance that no one enters this wing. If the police show up with a warrant signed by a Whitlock judge, tell them they can discuss it with my legal team at the bottom of the Narragansett Bay."
"Daniel, no," Hannah called out, struggling to sit up. "If you fight the police, they’ll destroy you. You can't protect me if you’re behind bars."
"They won't put me behind bars, Hannah," Daniel said, turning back to her with a cold, reassuring smile. "The Whitlocks think they own this city because they have a few judges in their pocket. They forgot who controls the men who actually make this city run. Martin, get me Andrew Vance on the line. And tell the dock unions to shut down every Whitlock vessel currently sitting in the harbor. Not a single crate moves until I say so."
Within two hours, the city of Providence began to feel the stranglehold of the Carver empire.
At the waterfront, hundreds of longshoremen walked off their shifts, leaving three massive Whitlock cargo ships stranded at the docks. The union bosses, loyal to Daniel for decades, shut off the cranes. Truck drivers refused to load container shipments. By midnight, the Whitlock corporation was losing millions of dollars by the hour.
Meanwhile, inside the hospital, Hannah’s condition stabilized. The medication had successfully slowed the contractions, giving her body a desperate window to rest.
As she lay in the dim light of the recovery room, eight-year-old Ben slipped through the door, guided by Martin. The boy ran straight to the side of the bed, his small face filled with worry.
"Hannah! Are you okay?" Ben asked, his eyes wide as he looked at her bandaged head. "Mr. Hale said the bad lady hurt you."
"I’m okay, Benny," Hannah said, reaching out to stroke his hair. "The baby is okay too. We’re just resting."
"I brought you this," Ben said, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "I found it in the library yesterday when I was looking for my drawing book. It fell behind the secret panel near the floor. It has your brother’s name on it."
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Hannah’s heart skipped a beat. She unfolded the paper. It was a page from a encrypted ledger, written in her brother Caleb’s distinct, neat handwriting. At the top of the page was a list of offshore bank accounts, and right beside them were the names of Claire Whitlock and her father, Richard Whitlock.
But it wasn't just a list of money. It was a list of dates—including the exact date her husband Aaron had died, with a note written in the margin: “Whitlock ordered the harbor clean-up. Aaron Brooks saw the manifest. He knows too much.”
