Chapter 6 - The Broken Altar
Pier 9 was an industrial skeleton jutting into the black, oily waters of Harbor City's industrial harbor. The rusted corrugated iron of the abandoned packing plant groaned under the relentless November wind, while fog clung to the rotting wooden pilings like a shroud.
Inside the cavernous facility, yellow sodium lights buzzed overhead, illuminating rows of abandoned gutting tables and rusted conveyor belts.
In the center of the concrete floor, tied to a heavy steel chair, sat Jonah Calloway.
His face was bruised and swollen, his split lip crusting with dried blood. His clothes were shredded, and he slumped forward, barely conscious. Standing behind him was Marcus Crane—a tall, emaciated man with slicked-back silver hair, wearing a fur-lined camel coat and holding an ivory-handled walking cane.
Surrounding Crane were a dozen heavily armed syndicate enforcers, their assault rifles held at the ready.
A rusted side door creaked open.
Sarah Calloway stepped into the yellow light.
She wore a dark wool coat, her hands held open at her sides. Beside her walked Declan Vance, his black coat unbuttoned, his hands resting easily near his belt. Behind them, through the foggy entrance, no backup was visible.
Jonah lifted his battered head, his swollen eyes widening in terror. "Sarah...? No... Sarah, run! Get out of here!"
"Shut up, boy," Crane hissed, striking Jonah across the cheek with the silver tip of his cane. Jonah cried out, slumping back against the ropes.
"Touch him again, Crane, and I wipe the escrow accounts before your servers can blink," Sarah announced, her voice echoing off the high tin ceiling with startling clarity.
Crane chuckled—a dry, rattling sound. "Ah, the courageous older sister. The saint of the third district. You should have stayed in your little cubicle, Miss Calloway. Filing eviction petitions is much safer than interfering with men who own this city."
"You don't own this city, Marcus," Declan Vance spoke, his voice cutting through the damp chill. "You’re an extortionist running scared because your northern suppliers cut off your credit line. You’re desperate."
Crane’s smile vanished, his eyes narrowing on Vance. "And you’re a dinosaur, Declan. You think because your father ran these docks forty years ago, you get to dictate the rules? The bearer bonds are mine. The Calloway girl unlocks the escrow, you hand over the bearer certificates in your trunk, and maybe—just maybe—I let you walk out of here with your lives."
"The certificates aren't in my trunk, Crane," Vance said calmly.
May you like
Crane sneered. "Then where are they?"
Vance reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a single burnt piece of paper, letting it flutter to the wet concrete floor. "I burned them two hours ago."
