Chapter 15 - The Fishtown Ambush
Fishtown was a labyrinth of narrow cobblestone streets, converted textile warehouses, and dense rows of brick homes. Rain had begun to fall again, turning the Delaware River gray and swollen under a bruised October sky.
Detective Miller drove an unmarked sedan, with two marked squad cars trailing four blocks behind to avoid spooking the surveillance team Chloe had spotted.
"She’s on the third floor of the converted warehouse on Girard," Miller said, checking the service pistol resting in his shoulder holster. "If those fixers are Stanton’s personal private security contractors, they will be armed and aggressive. Stay behind me, Evan."
We rounded the corner onto Girard Avenue. Sure enough, parked directly in front of the fire hydrant opposite Chloe’s brick building was a matte-black luxury SUV with mirrored windows.
"That's them," I muttered, recognizing the exact same heavy frame as the vehicle that had fled my driveway the week before.
As our car slowed to a halt, the rear door of the warehouse slammed open.
Chloe Miller—a petite woman with disheveled blonde hair clutching a red leather backpack to her chest—burst onto the rain-slicked fire escape stairs, sprinting down toward the street in sheer panic. Behind her, two burly men in dark utility jackets burst through the metal door, vaulting over the iron handrails in ruthless pursuit.
"Police! Stop right there!" Detective Miller screamed, throwing his door open and drawing his weapon.
The lead pursuer didn't stop. He lunged down the final flight of iron steps, grabbing Chloe by the strap of her backpack, violently yanking her backward onto the wet concrete alley. Chloe shrieked, kicking wildly as the second man reached for the zipper of her bag, trying to rip the drive from her hands.
I didn't wait for Miller’s backup.
I bolted across Girard Avenue through oncoming traffic, an eighteen-wheeler blasting its horn as I cleared the bumper. The rage that had been building inside me for four years gave me a speed I didn't know I possessed.
The man holding Chloe looked up just in time to catch my shoulder straight into his sternum. The impact sent us both crashing into a row of industrial steel garbage bins, clattering violently against the brick wall.
He swung a wild punch that grazed my ear, but I threw two vicious, compact hooks into his gut, knocking the breath from his lungs until he doubled over in the trash heap.
The second man pulled a concealed taser from his jacket, aiming it at my chest, but Detective Miller’s voice cracked through the alley like thunder:
"Drop the weapon! Hands on your head or I fire!"
From both ends of the alley, sirens wailed as three marked police cruisers swarmed the curb, doors flying open and officers rushing in with weapons drawn. The second fixer raised his hands slowly, dropping the electrical weapon onto the wet asphalt.
I dropped to my knees beside Chloe, who was hyperventilating, tears streaking her pale face, her fingers white as she clutched the red backpack against her chest.
"Chloe, are you hurt?" I asked gently, extending a hand to help her sit up.
She looked at me, shaking uncontrollably, then unzipped the front pocket of the backpack. She pulled out an aluminum, military-grade encrypted hard drive and placed it directly into my palm.
May you like
"It’s all here, Evan," she wept, wiping rain and tears from her eyes. "Every phone call. Every forged letter draft. The payment receipts to the private courier. The audio of Noelle bragging that she was going to erase your babies before they ever drew a breath."
I wrapped my fingers around the cold metal drive. The storm raged overhead, but in that dark, narrow Fishtown alley, the light of absolute justice finally burned through the darkness.
