Chapter 6 - Shadows on the Waterfront
""He’s moving faster than we anticipated,"" Maddox said, his face transforming into stone. He looked toward his head of security, who was already strapping on a concealed holster under his jacket. ""Salvatore knows the federal filing won't hold up under forensic scrutiny. It’s a distraction.""
""A distraction for what?"" Laurel asked, panic rising in her throat.
""He wants the physical documents,"" Maddox answered, turning to her. ""The original trust deed your grandfather signed in 1964 is stored in the vault at Pier 14's maritime depot. In Rhode Island, if the physical parchment of an unrecorded grandfathered trust is destroyed before digital registration is completed, the land defaults to the state’s eminent domain reserve. Salvatore’s political cronies on the city council can buy it for pennies on the dollar.""
""We have to get there first,"" Laurel said immediately, reaching for her jacket.
""No,"" Maddox commanded. ""You stay here with Elise and four armed guards.""
""I am the only person who knows the vault's dual-combination sequence!"" Laurel shouted back, stepping directly into his personal space, refusing to back down. ""My grandfather designed that safe! If anyone forces the lock without the Whitaker calibration, the internal mercury vials break and acid dissolves the entire contents within thirty seconds! You go down there alone, and you lose everything my grandfather built!""
Maddox stared down at her, his chest heaving, wrestling with the instinct to lock her away where she was safe. But seeing the fierce, unyielding fire in her hazel eyes, he nodded once. ""Stay behind me at all times. If I say drop, you hit the floor. Understood?""
""Understood.""
Fifteen minutes later, two black SUVs tore through the pouring rain toward the industrial docklands of South Providence. The waterfront was dark, battered by heavy Atlantic winds that sent freezing spray flying over the concrete seawalls.
Pier 14 stood at the end of a long, desolate access road. The ancient brick depot loomed like a haunted monolith against the gray harbor.
As they approached, Maddox’s lead driver tapped the brakes. ""Front gate's chain has been cut, boss. Fresh tire tracks.""
""Kill the headlights,"" Maddox ordered quietly. He drew a sleek black semiautomatic pistol from his shoulder holster, checking the chamber with practiced, quiet efficiency. He reached into his coat and pulled out a smaller, compact weapon, extending it to Laurel handle-first. ""Do you know how to use this?""
""My father taught me,"" Laurel said, accepting the cold metal without hesitation. ""Safety off, point, squeeze.""
""Let's hope you only have to hold it,"" Maddox murmured.
They moved quickly through the shadows of the loading docks, the relentless rain masking the sound of their boots. The depot's side entrance was slightly ajar, the lock sheared off with a commercial torch.
Inside, the smell of damp salt and rust was suffocating. Distant voices echoed from the lower basement level—the location of the old Whitaker vault.
""Hurry up, you idiot!"" a harsh, rasping voice barked from below. ""The torch is barely through the second plate!""
""That's Salvatore,"" Maddox whispered, motioning for his security team to fan out along the iron catwalks above.
Laurel crept beside Maddox, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. As they reached the top of the concrete stairs leading down to the vault room, the scene below became clear under the glare of halogen work lights.
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Four men in heavy dockworker coats were clustered around a massive, antiquated circular steel door. Standing behind them, leaning heavily on a brass-topped cane, was Salvatore Bellanti—a withered, silver-haired man with eyes like a serpent. Beside him, trembling uncontrollably, stood Laurel’s Uncle Charles.
""Charles!"" Laurel screamed before Maddox could stop her.
