Chapter 3 - THE ASHES OF GREENWICH
The night sky over Greenwich turned a violent shade of orange as the Varela estate consumed itself in flames.
My men didn't harm the guests; we gave them three minutes to evacuate the premises before thermite charges were detonated inside the central server rooms and luxury garages. The roaring blaze swallowed the antique oil paintings, the Italian marble, the priceless sports cars, and twenty years of Gabriel Varela’s stolen wealth.
I stood by the iron gates, watching the fire reflect in the dark paint of my black SUV.
Arthur walked up beside me, holding a encrypted satellite laptop. "The police reports are already hitting the wires. The local precinct is refusing to respond to Gabriel's calls. Senator Beltran’s resignation notice is being drafted as we speak."
"What about Gabriel?" I asked.
"He fled in an armored Mercedes before the fire spread," Arthur said. "He took Emmett with him. Cordova and his son were detained at the edge of the property by federal agents who were waiting outside based on the files we leaked."
"Where is Gabriel going?"
Arthur tapped a few keys on the laptop. A GPS tracking grid lit up in bright green lines. "He's heading toward the docks at Port Newark. Pier 42. He has a private cargo ship flagged under a Panamanian register. It’s his escape hatch."
"Pier 42," I murmured.
That was where my empire had started thirty years ago. It was the place where I had carved my name into the docks of New York.
"Tell Marco to secure the hospital," I ordered. "Increase Renata’s guard to twelve men. Nobody enters her room unless they carry my personal token."
"And you?" Arthur asked, looking at me with concern in his eyes. "Daniel, you haven't slept in thirty-six hours. Your hands are shaking."
May you like
I looked down at my hands. They were trembling—not from exhaustion, but from the raw, unadulterated fury that had been suppressed for nineteen years.
"I'll rest when Gabriel is under the concrete," I said, stepping into the back seat of the SUV. "Drive."
