Chapter 5: The Docks.
862 Words
The wind off the Hudson was sharp enough to sting.
Container ships groaned in the distance as cranes moved like shadows across the fog, Rose followed Richard through the maze of steel and echoing footsteps, her heels clicking against damp concrete.
“This is where the real work begins,” Richard said, his voice low against the roar of the river. “You can’t build an empire and not soil your hands dirty.”
He stopped near a cargo bay where workers were unloading sealed crates. She glimpsed the logo: V-One BioTech.
Her pulse thudded. “What’s inside?”
“Medical prototypes, Research materials, the kind of things that change the future.”
His tone was flat, almost defensive, “People like to call it corruption when they don’t understand the vision.”
She studied him, searching his face, “And do you understand it?”
He turned toward her, The fog caught in his hair, softening the edges of his usual steel composure, “I understand loss and I understand that saving one life sometimes means losing another.”
The words hit too close, Rose’s throat tightened, “Who did you lose?”
He didn’t answer, Instead, he nodded toward the car waiting at the pier “Come on, you’ll catch a cold.”
Later in the car, silence stretched between them like glass about to crack.
“You think I’m a monster,” he said suddenly.
“I think you hide too well,” she replied quietly.
He glanced at her, something dangerous and tender in his eyes “Maybe you do too.”
The city lights swallowed their reflection as the car sped away.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. His words replayed over and over, unsettling her rhythm, She’d come here for revenge, for justice not empathy, and yet, every time he looked at her, she felt something dangerous shifting inside her.
Her sister’s voice echoed in her memory, a whisper from another time: Don’t let them break you, Rose.
“I’m not breaking,” she murmured into the dark, as she started feeling sleepy, “I’m bending the light.”. She said as she fell asleep.
The next day, the docks at Pier 17 stretched out like the bones of a forgotten city, slick with rain and neon light. Cargo cranes stood motionless against the fog, their metal limbs creaking in the wind. Rose’s shoes splashed through shallow puddles as she scanned the shadows for movement.
Her pulse kept a quiet count, steady, disciplined but beneath it ran something sharper: fear she refused to name, The message had been unsigned, the meeting place too exposed, yet she had come anyway, Revenge made you reckless; grief made you brave.
A figure stepped out from behind a shipping crate, a man in a dark raincoat, face half-hidden by the hood.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I was in Traffic,” she replied, though her hand stayed near the pepper spray in her pocket. “Who are you?”
“A person who doesn’t want to die like your sister.”
Her breath caught. “Then tell me what happened to her.”
He glanced around. “Prescott’s company buried it. Project V-One was a biotech trial offshore testing, unregulated. They used volunteers from small clinics, One went wrong, your sister uncovered the reports, threatened to leak them, Two weeks later, her car crashed on the turnpike.”
Rose’s throat tightened. “You’re saying it wasn’t an accident.”
“It never is when billions are at stake.” He slipped her a flash drive, “Everything I could copy before they found me, Names, Accounts, Prescott’s godfather Charles Vance signed most of the approvals.”
She frowned. “Not Richard?”
“He’s the face, Vance is the hand.”
A distant hum cut through the air engine, headlights approaching, The informant’s eyes widened, “They followed you.”
Before she could ask who, he shoved the drive into her palm, “Go! And trust no one in that building not even Prescott.”
Gunfire cracked through the fog, She ducked behind a crate as the man fell, a dark shape folding into the rain. Her body moved before her mind caught up running, slipping through alleys until she reached the street.
By the time she flagged a cab, the flash drive was cold in her fist, like the weight of a confession.
She looked back once, The pier was swallowed by mist, no trace of the man or the shots, as if the night itself had devoured him.
When she reached her apartment, her hands still trembled, She locked the door, turned off the lights, and plugged the flash drive into her laptop, Folders filled the screen: financial transfers, offshore accounts, medical records, each one stamped with a familiar signature C. Vance.
But one document froze her completely, A payment authorization, dated three years ago, signed by R. Prescott.
Her breath left her in a whisper. “Richard…”
The man she was falling for might have paid for her sister’s silence.
Outside, thunder rolled across the river, and the city lights flickered like a warning.
- Writer
