Chapter 7 - The Master of the Docks
By four o’clock in the morning, the rain had tapered off into a cool, misting fog that hovered over the dark waters of the northern harbor. The industrial district was quiet, save for the distant hum of cargo cranes and the rhythmic lapping of black waves against the wooden pilings of Pier 14.
Nicholas’s black sedan pulled up smoothly alongside the perimeter gates of the Calder Maritime Terminal. Grant Hale sat in the front passenger seat, while Nicholas stepped out onto the damp asphalt, pulling his collar up against the cold river wind. He walked toward the edge of the dock where the massive steel shipping containers were stacked three stories high, casting long shadows across the concrete.
Waiting beneath the sodium-vapor lights was Vincent Moretti himself.
The head of the Moretti crime syndicate was a stout, silver-haired man in his late fifties, dressed in a tailored camel-hair coat and smoking an imported cigar. Flanking him were four heavily armed bodyguards, but none of them made an aggressive move. When Nicholas Calder walked onto a dock, everyone knew the perimeter was already bracketed by Calder snipers hidden atop the crane gantries.
""Nicholas,"" Moretti said, exhaling a thick plume of gray smoke into the damp night air. ""I received the cashier's checks. Four point two million. Clean, traceable bank drafts. You always pay your family's debts with immaculate precision.""
""Julian is no longer my family,"" Nicholas replied, stopping five paces away with his hands buried in the pockets of his coat. ""And that money wasn't a favor to him. It was a business transaction to ensure that your organization remains on your side of the river.""
Moretti smiled faintly, taking another slow drag of his cigar. ""You made quite a mess at the country club tonight, boy. The entire city council is buzzing about it. Word on the street is that your aunt Marjorie was ready to hand me the deeds to your mother’s riverfront parcels to clear Julian’s tab.""
""Those parcels were never hers to give,"" Nicholas said evenly.
""I know that,"" Moretti said, his smile fading into a look of shrewd calculation. ""Your mother bought that land thirty years ago under her maiden name, Elizabeth Vance. She bought it because she knew the city was planning to build the new deep-water container terminal there. That dirt is worth forty million dollars today. Julian thought he was being clever, trying to trade it for his pathetic life.""
Moretti tossed his cigar butt onto the wet ground and crushed it beneath the sole of his leather shoe. ""I could have taken that land, Nicholas. My lawyers had found a loophole in the old Vance family trust. We could have dragged you through the probate courts for five years and tied up your shipping operations.""
""You could have tried,"" Nicholas whispered, his eyes flashing with lethal confidence. ""And within forty-eight hours, every cargo vessel carrying Moretti freight through the narrows would have suffered mysterious engine fires. Your offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands would have been leaked to the federal strike force, and you would be spending the rest of your golden years eating oatmeal through a straw in a maximum-security penitentiary.""
Moretti stared at the younger man for a long, tense moment. Then, slowly, the old boss chuckled and shook his head in quiet admiration. ""You really are your father’s son. Old Marcus Calder had the exact same look in his eyes whenever anyone touched his borders. Cold. Utterly without mercy.""
""My father is dead,"" Nicholas said. ""And I am not here to reminisce about the past, Vincent. I am here to deliver a clear message. The northern riverfront belongs to Elizabeth Vance’s heirs. It has been deeded in full to my wife, Evelyn Calder.""
Moretti’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. ""The girl from the flower district? You put forty million dollars of prime maritime real estate in her name?""
""Every square inch,"" Nicholas replied, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. ""She plans to convert the southern half into a permanent public botanical garden dedicated to my mother, and the northern half into a vocational center for the working families of the river wards. If a single one of your loan sharks, bookmakers, or enforcers steps foot on that soil, I will consider it a personal declaration of war against the Calder family.""
Moretti held up both hands in a placating gesture, taking a half-step back. ""Understood, Nicholas. We have no interest in flower gardens or community centers. As long as our shipping lanes remain clear through the southern channel, the Moretti family will treat Mrs. Evelyn Calder with the highest regard. You have my word on that.""
""Good,"" Nicholas said simply. He turned on his heel and walked back toward his waiting sedan.
""Nicholas,"" Moretti called out just as Nicholas reached the car door.
Nicholas paused, his hand on the handle. ""What?""
May you like
The older gangster looked at him with an expression that was surprisingly somber. ""A man who loves his wife that much is either completely invincible... or completely vulnerable. Be careful who you let get close to her, kid. In our line of work, love is the one bullet you never see coming.""
Nicholas didn't answer. He slipped into the leather interior of the car, closed the heavy door with a solid thud, and tapped the partition. ""Take me home, Grant. My wife is waiting.""
