Chapter 3 - Locker 317
Vincent arrived at the hospital before sunrise.
Elena hadn’t called him.
That bothered her almost as much as the threatening message.
“How did you know?”
Vincent stood in the empty waiting area wearing a different black shirt beneath the same charcoal jacket.
“I had someone watching the hospital.”
“You had someone watching me?”
“After tonight? Yes.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
Elena showed him the photograph.
Vincent read the messages without reacting.
But when he reached the line about her father, his jaw tightened.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“I recognized the tactic.”
“What tactic?”
“Use the dead to control the living.”
Elena stepped closer.
“My father’s name was Thomas Marlowe.”
Vincent went still.
That was enough.
“You know his name.”
Vincent looked toward Caleb’s room.
“We shouldn’t discuss this here.”
“We’re discussing it now.”
“Elena.”
“Did you know my father?”
A long silence.
“No.”
“But you know the name.”
“Yes.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Why?”
Vincent removed the brass key.
“Because Thomas Marlowe signed paperwork connected to facility 317.”
The world seemed to tilt.
“My father repaired marine engines.”
“He also inspected freight containers.”
Elena remembered the last year of her father’s life: strange overtime shifts, sleepless nights, the way he had started checking the rearview mirror.
“What was he inspecting?”
“I intend to find out.”
Elena held out her hand.
“Then I’m coming.”
“No.”
“That key came from a man who attacked my brother, and now someone is using my father’s death to threaten me.”
Vincent stared at her.
“You really don’t understand who you’re dealing with.”
“Then explain it.”
For the first time, Vincent almost smiled.
There was nothing warm about it.
“I’m still figuring that out.”
Facility 317 turned out to be a private storage complex near Baltimore’s industrial waterfront.
Vincent brought Marco and two vehicles.
Elena came despite his objections.
Locker 317 had not been opened in seventeen years.
Inside sat one steel case.
Vincent approached carefully.
Elena noticed dust everywhere except near one corner.
“Stop.”
Everyone looked at her.
She pointed.
“That case was moved recently.”
Vincent crouched.
A thin clean line marked the concrete.
Marco checked beneath the case.
“Clear.”
They opened it.
Inside were dozens of shipping manifests.
Photographs.
Bank records.
And an old digital recorder.
Elena picked up one photograph.
Her father stood beside three men near a shipping container.
One was Paul Henley.
Her manager.
Another was younger but unmistakable.
Vincent Moretti.
Elena looked up.
“You said you didn’t know him.”
“I didn’t.”
“You’re standing beside him.”
“I was twenty-four. Hundreds of people worked those docks.”
She turned the photograph over.
A handwritten date appeared.
Eight years earlier.
Below it were three words.
MORETTI KNOWS NOTHING.
Vincent read them.
Marco muttered, “What the hell?”
Elena picked up the recorder.
It still worked.
A man’s voice crackled through the tiny speaker.
Her father.
“If Elena ever hears this, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”
Her knees nearly failed.
Vincent caught her elbow.
She pulled away but kept listening.
“I found something inside Pier Nine shipments. Something bigger than stolen cargo. People. Girls. Passports taken. Containers falsified as machine parts.”
Vincent’s expression turned lethal.
Thomas continued.
“I tried reporting it. Somebody inside the port authority buried it. I thought Moretti was responsible.”
Elena looked at Vincent.
“But I was wrong.”
Silence swallowed the locker.
“The Moretti manifests were being cloned. Someone was using his shipping routes without his knowledge. Paul told me he could help.”
Elena’s heart cracked.
Paul.
Her father had trusted Paul.
The recording continued.
“If something happens to me, find the ledger. Don’t trust Paul.”
The audio stopped.
Elena whispered, “He killed him.”
Vincent said nothing.
“He killed my father.”
“We don’t know that.”
“You heard him.”
“We heard your father didn’t trust Paul.”
Elena turned on him.
“Stop talking like everything is evidence.”
Vincent’s voice softened.
“Evidence keeps grief from choosing the wrong target.”
The sentence hit harder than she expected.
Because it sounded personal.
Before she could ask why, Marco called from the doorway.
“Boss.”
Headlights appeared outside.
Several vehicles.
Vincent closed the case.
“How many?”
“Too many.”
The first bullet punched through the metal door.
Vincent shoved Elena down.
Gunfire erupted.
Marco returned fire.
Vincent pulled Elena behind a concrete pillar.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
His eyes flashed.
“For once in your life, Elena, listen.”
“You’ve known me twelve hours.”
“It has been a very educational twelve hours.”
Despite everything, a shocked laugh escaped her.
Vincent stared.
“You’re laughing?”
“You’re impossible.”
Another bullet struck concrete.
He leaned closer.
“Stay alive long enough to complain later.”
Then he disappeared around the pillar.
Minutes later, silence returned.
Two attackers escaped.
One didn’t.
Marco dragged the wounded man inside.
Vincent crouched before him.
“Who sent you?”
The man smiled through bloody teeth.
“You still don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Your house is already empty.”
Vincent froze.
Marco immediately grabbed his phone.
Then his face changed.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Your mother.”
Vincent stood.
“Where is she?”
“Gone.”
The wounded man laughed.
May you like
And Elena understood that whoever had begun this war had never been interested only in killing Vincent.
They wanted to dismantle him piece by piece.
