Head into Chapter Two to discover what happens next in the full story.

-9-

The rain was coming down in sheets by the time our three-car armored convoy rolled past the rusted iron gates of the abandoned South Chicago dry-dock facility. The sprawling industrial park was a wasteland of decaying brick warehouses, rusting shipping containers, and dark, oily puddles reflecting the dull amber glow of distant highway lights.

Warehouse 14 sat at the very end of the crumbling pier, right against the dark, churning waters of Lake Michigan. Unlike the surrounding abandoned buildings, this warehouse hummed with a low, rhythmic vibration. High-intensity security cameras swept the perimeter, and a row of black luxury SUVs was parked neatly beside the reinforced side entrance.

Our convoy cut its headlights a quarter-mile back, creeping forward in total darkness until we parked behind a stack of rusted shipping containers just fifty yards from the target building.

Inside the lead vehicle, Marcus unfolded a digital blueprint of the warehouse complex on his tactical console, illuminated by the soft green glow of his tablet.

"We have thermal imaging signatures showing at least twelve armed operatives inside the main facility," Marcus reported, pointing to various points on the schematic. "The primary server room is located on the second-floor mezzanine overlooking the dry dock. That’s where they’re maintaining the encrypted offshore data links."

"They're scrubbing their servers," my father realized instantly, watching the data traffic spikes flashing on our interceptor monitor. "The moment the mercenary didn't check in after the Gold Coast hit, their automated security protocols triggered an emergency data wipe."

"We don't have time for a stealth infiltration," I said, looking at Daniel, who had insisted on coming with us despite his injuries, his face set in a mask of grim determination. "If they wipe those servers, we lose the digital evidence linking the syndicate to Linda and the attempted murder plot."

"Then we kick the front door in," my father declared, unzipping a heavy canvas duffel bag filled with tactical breaching charges and secondary sidearms. He handed Daniel a loaded 9mm pistol. "Can you handle a firearm, son?"

Daniel took the weapon, his grip steady and sure as he checked the chamber. "I haven't shot since my hunting days at university, but I remember how to pull a trigger. Point me at the bastards who did this."

"Marcus, take the rear loading bay with two operatives," my father ordered, sliding his tactical gloves over his knuckles. "Maddy, Daniel, you're with me through the main entrance. We hit them fast, hard, and leave no room for negotiation."

We moved out from behind the shipping containers, utilizing the driving rain and the shadows of the industrial park to close the distance across the open tarmac. The cold wind whipping off Lake Michigan cut straight through our ballistic vests, but the adrenaline pumping through our veins kept the chill at bay.

We reached the reinforced steel service door of Warehouse 14 in under two minutes.

Marcus gave a thumbs-up from the rear loading dock via the comm-link. In position.

My father slapped a magnetic breaching charge against the center of the steel door, twisting the detonator wire into place. He gestured for us to pull back against the concrete wall.

Three... Two... One... Boom.