Chapter 9: The Meeting at the Docks
The rain had reduced to a heavy mist by the time Claire’s stolen rental car (procured by Marcus from a shady contact down the road) pulled up to Pier 44. The old shipping yard was a desolate wasteland of rusted shipping containers, broken cranes, and the rotting smell of the ocean.
Claire parked the car in the shadows, leaving the engine running. She tucked the USB drive into her bra, buttoned her coat tightly against the freezing wind, and stepped out into the night.
"Julianne?" Claire called out, her voice swallowed by the vast, empty space.
"Keep your hands where I can see them," a sharp voice echoed from the darkness.
A figure stepped out from behind a red shipping container. It was Julianne Vance. She was wearing a heavy trench coat, and in her right hand, pointed directly at the ground but ready to raise, was a sleek black handgun.
"You're David Hale's widow," Julianne said, her eyes scanning the darkness behind Claire. "Marcus said you had something that could sink the Hales. I hope you aren't wasting my time. I’ve been trying to nail Richard and Eleanor for five years."
"I have the ledger," Claire said, taking a cautious step forward. "My husband's files. It proves they're running a massive money laundering scheme. And it has the bribe list."
Julianne lowered the gun slightly, her eyes flashing with sudden, predatory interest. "Who's on the list?"
"Your father," Claire said without flinching.
Julianne’s jaw tightened. "I always knew that bastard was dirty. Show it to me."
Claire reached into her coat, but before her fingers could brush the USB drive, the night was shattered by the blinding glare of high-beam headlights.
Two massive black SUVs roared into the shipping yard, blocking the only exit. The tires squealed as they skidded to a halt on the wet pavement. Doors flew open, and four men in dark tactical gear stepped out. They were armed.
"Dammit!" Julianne hissed, raising her gun. "You were followed!"
"I swear I wasn't!" Claire panicked, her heart hammering against her ribs. But then she remembered the rental car. Marcus had procured it quickly. Too quickly. The Hales' reach was everywhere.
"Get behind the container!" Julianne yelled, grabbing Claire’s arm and yanking her backward just as a bullet sparked against the metal where they had been standing a second before.
The sound of the gunshot was deafening. Claire clamped her hands over her ears, her mind racing. Eleanor hadn't just sent police this time. She had sent fixers. She was tying up loose ends.
"Give us the drive, Mrs. Hale!" a voice boomed from the darkness. It was cold, professional. "And we'll make this quick. Otherwise, we go to the motel and pay a visit to your little girl."
Claire stopped breathing. They knew where Sophie was.
"Julianne," Claire gasped, grabbing the journalist's sleeve. "They know about the motel. My daughter is there."
Julianne cursed violently. She peeked around the corner of the container and fired two quick shots, forcing the men to duck behind their SUVs.
"We need a distraction," Julianne yelled over the rain. She pulled a set of keys from her pocket. "My car is parked behind the warehouse, fifty yards that way. When I lay down cover fire, you run. You take my car, you get your kid, and you drive to the address on the back of this business card."
She shoved a crumpled card into Claire’s hand.
"What about you?" Claire asked, terrified.
"I've been waiting for a shootout with these corrupt bastards my whole career," Julianne grinned, though her eyes were dead serious. "Go. Get the story out. Do it for David!"
Julianne stepped out from cover, firing rapidly toward the SUVs.
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"Run!"
Claire didn't look back. She sprinted through the darkness, her lungs burning, the sound of gunfire echoing in the night as she ran for her daughter’s life.
