Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Jonah Calloway
The guest suite on the third floor of Blackwood Estate was larger than Sarah and Bee's entire apartment.
A roaring stone fireplace cast warm, flickering light across polished mahogany floors, heavy velvet drapes, and high bookshelves. On the low glass table sat clean clothes, fresh bandages, antiseptic ointment, and two plates of roasted chicken that smelled rich with rosemary and butter.
Bee fell asleep on the leather sofa within thirty minutes, exhausted by terror, her cheek pressed against an embroidered pillow. Sarah stayed awake. She cleaned her palm with antiseptic, ignoring the stinging burn as she bound her hand with sterile gauze.
A soft knock sounded at the heavy oak door before it opened.
Declan Vance walked in, carrying a plain manila folder. He had changed into a dark knit sweater, though the leather shoulder holster remained strapped across his chest. He tossed the folder onto the table beside Sarah's untouched plate.
"Eat," he said.
"I'm not hungry."
"Your blood sugar is crashing. You're shaking." He pulled out an armchair opposite her and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Eat the food, Sarah. You're going to need your strength."
Sarah forced herself to take a forkful of chicken, chewing mechanically before looking down at the folder. "What is that?"
"Jonah's financial trail over the last twelve months," Vance replied.
Sarah opened the folder. Inside were dozens of bank statements, hotel receipts, and blurry photographs of her twenty-two-year-old brother entering back-alley casinos and private poker dens in the North End. Jonah had always been reckless—bouncing from sales jobs to freelance tech scams—but Sarah had spent three years paying his overdue utility bills, believing he was just struggling to find his footing after their parents died in a winter car accident.
"He owes Crane three point two million in personal debt," Vance explained, watching her eyes scan the numbers. "He racked it up over eighteen months. Crane was going to break both his legs and throw him off the suspension bridge on Friday. Jonah knew that. So he offered Crane an inside job—he promised to hack into my logistics server and siphon the bearer bonds from Crane's shared terminal."
"So Jonah worked for Crane?" Sarah asked, her voice cracking.
"He tried to," Vance said. "Until Jonah realized the bonds weren't digital. They were physical certificates stored in a biometric safe inside Crane's private yacht. Jonah didn't just hack the terminal; he stole the physical briefcase and ran. He double-crossed Crane, and by extension, he stole from me."
"He's a kid," Sarah said fiercely, her protective instincts flaring. "He made a stupid, desperate mistake! He doesn't deserve to be executed by a cartel!"
"Crane doesn't care about mistakes," Vance murmured. "He flayed his own cousin alive for losing twenty thousand dollars in counterfeit tobacco last spring. If Crane finds Jonah before I do, your brother will spend three days begging to die."
Sarah looked toward the sofa where Bee lay curled under a wool blanket. "Why did you answer my call, Declan? A wrong number shouldn't matter to a man like you. You could have hung up."
Declan looked into the fireplace, the flames reflecting against the pale gray of his eyes. "Because fifteen years ago, before I owned the docks, I had an older brother who got into deep water with the same families that run Harbor City today. He called me from a phone booth on Mercer Street. I didn't pick up. I was busy drinking with friends at a club."
He turned back to Sarah, his face hard as granite. "When they pulled his body from the harbor three days later, they found two unspent tokens in his pocket. He was calling to say goodbye. When your voice came through that line, terrified and begging for help... I decided I wasn't going to let another Calloway die on Mercer Street."
Sarah looked at the scarred man sitting in front of her. Beneath the ruthlessness and the underworld empire, there was a survivor who understood the brutal arithmetic of grief.
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Before she could speak, Vance's secure radio chimed on his belt.
"Boss," a voice crackled through the static. "The perimeter sensors just tripped on the eastern road. We’ve got four unmarked black sedans moving up the mountain without headlights."
