Chapter 2 - The Trap at Pier Seventeen
Corinne didn't flinch, keeping her posture tall despite the sudden chill running down her spine.
"Just doing some balancing, Everett," she replied, keeping her voice light and steady. "Roman asked me to review the quarterly disclosures."
Everett laughed, a sharp, patronizing sound that bounced off the metal filing cabinets.
"Roman didn't ask you for a damn thing," Everett snapped, stepping closer until he towered over her. "My cousin treats you like porcelain because you're pretty, Corinne. Don't mistake his indulgence for authority."
"Touch me and find out what his indulgence looks like," Corinne countered coldly.
Everett’s smile wavered for a second before his jaw tightened into hard granite.
"I won't have to touch you," he murmured, backing away and pulling open the door. "Just stick to planning the charity galas, little cousin. The waterfront is grown men's business."
He walked out, leaving the air heavy with an unspoken threat that made Corinne's chest tighten.
She didn't run home to Roman; she knew that if she threw accusations without bulletproof evidence, the family would close ranks to protect Everett.
Later that evening, an anonymous text message pinged Corinne's private burner phone with an attached warehouse coordinate.
If you want the real bills of lading for the Pier Seventeen steel, be at Warehouse B by midnight. Come alone or it burns.
Corinne stared at the screen, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She could tell Roman, but Roman would send twenty armed guards and turn the entire harbor into a warzone.
She drove herself through the pouring rain, parking two blocks away from the dilapidated dockside structure.
The salt air tasted like rust and rot as she stepped through the rusted metal gate into Warehouse B.
A single hanging bulb swung above an empty industrial table, casting long, eerie shadows across the damp concrete floor.
Corinne stepped toward the table, her leather boots splashing through dark puddles of runoff water.
There were no papers on the table, only an audio recorder set to play on loop.
Before she could turn around, the loud crack of a wooden pallet echoed from the high rafters above her.
She looked up just in time to see a heavy iron cargo hook swinging down like a pendulum.
Corinne threw herself sideways onto the concrete, but the edge of the iron beam caught her directly across the ribs.
Agony exploded in her chest, stealing every ounce of air from her lungs as she rolled across broken glass.
May you like
From the high walkway above, a shadowy figure looked down, watched her gasp in the dirt, and vanished into the storm.
Corinne dragged herself toward her car, coughing blood onto the steering wheel, clutching her fractured side with both hands.
