Chapter 4 - The Traitor At The Gate
I didn't take the bus back to my apartment; I took an express cab directly toward the Cross Marine terminal on the South Side docks.
The gray rain was turning into sleet, battering the industrial warehouses where Damian spent his weekday afternoons.
I knew that trying to contact him through normal channels was suicide.
His appointments were screened by six layers of corporate assistants, and any message mentioning Vivian would be intercepted immediately. My only chance was to reach Roman, his head of personal security, who had served with Damian’s father for thirty years.
I found Roman standing under the overhang of warehouse four, smoking a cigarette while watching a cargo crane unload shipping crates.
"Mr. Roman!" I called out, pulling my coat tight as I splashed through the icy puddles toward him.
The broad-shouldered security veteran turned around, dropping his hand instinctively toward his concealed holster before recognizing my face.
"Maya? What the hell are you doing down at the harbor in scrubs? This isn't a neighborhood for college girls."
"I need five minutes, Roman," I begged, out of breath and shivering from the cold sleet.
"It's about Vivian. It's about Damian’s life."
Roman’s expression hardened instantly, his eyes darting across the empty concrete yard toward a black town car parked near the perimeter fence.
He grabbed my arm with an iron grip, pulling me into the sheltered corner of the cargo bay out of the freezing wind.
"Lower your voice," Roman growled, his jaw tight.
"What are you talking about?"
I opened my leather bag with trembling fingers, pulling out the navy-blue folder from Dr. Pike’s clinic.
"She's not pregnant, Roman. Look at the scans! The machine registration belongs to California, the hormone panels are negative, and Pike was paid eighty grand to falsify a stillbirth certificate after the wedding!"
Roman didn't gasp.
He didn't look shocked, horrified, or angry.
He simply took the medical folder from my hands, flipped through the pages with slow, methodical calm, and then looked down at me with cold, empty eyes.
"You're a very smart girl, Maya," Roman said softly, his voice devoid of any warmth.
"Too smart for a girl who pours coffee for eight dollars an hour."
A cold spike of terror drove through my heart, freezing the breath in my throat.
"You... you knew?"
"Vivian didn't plan this alone," Roman murmured, pulling a compact radio from his jacket pocket.
"Damian has been losing his edge ever since Elena died. He’s giving away half the shipping routes to union charities and public trusts. He’s weak, Maya. The family business needs leadership that doesn't weep over tombstones."
"He trusts you with his life!" I screamed, lunging forward to snatch the files back.
Roman caught my wrist in a vice-like hold, twisting my arm behind my back and shoving me face-first against the corrugated steel wall of the warehouse.
"He trusted his wife, and she died. He trusted Vivian, and she’s taking his empire. Trust is for dead men."
May you like
He keyed his radio with his thumb, his voice steady and clinical.
"Chloe, bring the car around to bay four. We have a leak from the restaurant that needs to be disposed of in the canal."
