Chapter 2 - The Ghost in the Rafters
The rain had begun to fall over the limestone eaves of the carriage house, slicking the slate shingles in reflective black.
Vincent moved through the dripping rhododendron bushes with Marcus and four tactical guards trailing in silent, synchronized formation. The air smelled of wet pine, damp loam, and the sharp tang of spent motor oil from the maintenance yard.
Daniel Mercer had spent five years maintaining the family fleet. He knew every blind spot in the estate’s outer fencing, including an old drainage conduit behind the secondary garage.
“Thermal optic picked up a heat signature in the hayloft,” Marcus whispered through his tactical earpiece. “Single target. Moving erratically.”
Vincent gestured with two fingers.
Two operatives breached the carriage house side door without a sound, their suppressed submachine guns raised in the dark. Vincent stepped inside behind them, his heavy boots crunching softly on scattered straw.
Above them, a floorboard creaked loudly.
“Daniel,” Vincent called out, his deep baritone rolling through the cavernous wooden barn like distant thunder. “Come down from the rafters before Marcus sends a flashbang up the ladder.”
A sharp, ragged gasp echoed from the loft above.
A toolbox tumbled over the ledge, crashing onto the wooden floor below and scattering wrenches across the floorboards. Then came the sound of a man sobbing in complete, breathless terror.
“Don’t shoot! Please, don’t shoot!” Daniel cried out, his voice cracking with hysteria.
A pair of muddy work boots appeared on the wooden rungs, followed by the trembling figure of the fleet manager. He was drenched to the bone, his Romano work jacket torn at the shoulder, his face bruised and pale as chalk.
He hit the straw floor and collapsed to his knees, pressing his forehead against the damp dirt at Vincent’s feet.
“I didn't have a choice, Vincent!” Daniel wept, clutching his own hair with blistered fingers. “They had my sister in Milwaukee! Salvatore’s men sent me a video of her walking into her apartment with two guys behind her!”
Vincent looked down at the trembling man with cold, unblinking eyes.
“You managed my fleet for five years, Daniel,” Vincent said, each word landing like a hammer on an anvil. “If you had come to me, your sister would have been in a safehouse in Zurich within three hours.”
“I panicked!” Daniel screamed into the floorboards. “Sloan told me if I didn't override the camera feed and give him the service keys, they would burn her alive!”
Marcus stepped forward, placing the toe of his combat boot beneath Daniel’s chin and forcing the mechanic’s head upward.
“Who gave you the order inside this house, Mercer?” Marcus demanded. “Who told you which bay the armored SUV would be parked in?”
Daniel swallowed hard, tears and snot mixing on his trembling lips.
“Anthony,” Daniel choked out, his eyes darting frantically toward the door. “Anthony gave me the burner phone two weeks ago. He said when the call came, I had to obey whatever Sloan asked for, or Anthony would tell you I was stealing parts from the shipping warehouse.”
Vincent closed his eyes for two slow seconds, exhaling a quiet, frosty breath into the drafty barn.
The confirmation settled the question forever.
His own cousin had calculated the timing, arranged the sabotage, and used an innocent mechanic’s fear to engineer a fiery crash on the steep waterfront cliffs.
“Where is Sloan now?” Vincent asked, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper.
“The old cold-storage plant on 14th Street,” Daniel rasped, clutching at Vincent’s trouser cuff. “Salvatore has an offshore boat idling at the pier. As soon as the docks go dark tonight, Sloan is supposed to board that cutter and leave for South America!”
Vincent looked down at Daniel, then reached out and tapped Marcus’s shoulder.
“Lock him in the wine cellar under twenty-four-hour guard,” Vincent ordered. “Send a tactical unit to Milwaukee to secure his sister immediately.”
Daniel began to weep with profound, disbelieving relief. “Thank you, Vincent… thank you…”
May you like
Vincent turned his back, stepping back out into the pouring rain.
“Save your prayers for Anthony, Daniel,” Vincent muttered into the storm. “Because my cousin will not receive the same mercy.”
