Chapter 9 - The Ghost Pier
Pier 44 jutted out into the churning black waters of the harbor like a rotten wooden finger. Fog rolled off the bay, mingling with the relentless rain, swallowing the yellow sodium lights lining the perimeter.
Clara walked down the center of the pier, her ruined white wedding dress dragging through the black puddles, sodden and heavy. The wind whipped her soaked hair across her face. In her trembling hand, she held a thick manila envelope sealed with wax.
Ahead of her stood three black SUVs, their headlights illuminating her every step. Marcus leaned against the hood of the center vehicle, a heavy wool overcoat draped over his designer suit, holding a smoking cigarette under the edge of an umbrella.
"You're late, Clara," Marcus called out, tossing the cigarette butt into the dark water below. "And where is the girl? I told Julian to bring both."
"Julian is dead," Clara lied, her voice shaking violently, but loud enough to pierce the sound of crashing waves. "The car crashed into the canal when Arthur's men pursued us. I barely pulled the envelope out before the car sank. The girl... the girl went down with him."
Marcus’s eyes widened slightly, a mixture of shock and morbid calculation crossing his features. "You expect me to believe my brother drowned that easily?"
From the shadows beneath the pier’s support beams, Julian clung to an iron ladder, completely drenched in freezing saltwater, his pistol held close to his chest. Directly above him, he could hear the boots of two snipers pacing the wooden planks.
Suddenly, a door of the center SUV opened. An older man, frail, connected to a portable oxygen tank, stepped out into the rain. Arthur Vance.
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"Liar," Arthur rasped into his respirator. "Julian's car wasn't pulled from the river. It was spotted five blocks from here. Look behind you, Marcus."
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