Chapter 4 - The Puppet Master's Mask
The rain poured heavily as the massive silhouette of the container ship Gorgon slid into Berth 42.
A convoy of black luxury sedans pulled up to the dock. The doors opened, and several men in sharp suits stepped out, holding umbrellas. Among them was an elderly man walking with a silver-headed cane.
Silas Vance.
His face was a mask of cold, aristocratic arrogance. He looked at the shipping containers being unloaded, his eyes glittering with greed. This was the culmination of his life’s work—the complete monopolization of the underground chemical trade on the West Coast.
"Mr. Vance," Derek Santos said, stepping forward with an umbrella to shield the old man. "Everything is prepared. The docks are secure. Blackwood is out of the picture."
Silas turned his cold, gray eyes toward Derek. "I do not like loose ends, Mr. Santos. I hear rumors that Blackwood’s body has still not been recovered."
"He's dead, Silas," Dominic Crane chimed in, walking up behind them. "My poison doesn't fail."
"Your poison was created by my son," Silas said sharply. "And my son was a traitor who tried to steal my legacy. Do not lecture me on what can and cannot fail."
Before Dominic could reply, Derek’s phone rang. He answered it, listening intently. A vicious, triumphant grin slowly spread across his face.
"We have him," Derek said, hanging up. "Marcus just spotted him. He’s hiding in the old engine room, just two hundred yards from here. He’s barely breathing, trying to patch himself up."
Silas Vance’s eyes narrowed. "I want to see it. I want to see the great Carter Blackwood draw his final breath. Bring him to me."
"No need, Grandfather," a small, clear voice echoed through the rainy dock.
The men spun around, their hands instantly reaching for their holstered weapons.
Standing on top of a stack of shipping containers, drenched in the pouring rain, were Emma and Lily. They wore their matching school uniforms, their faces calm, holding a small digital tablet.
Silas Vance froze, his cane digging into the wet asphalt. "You... you little rats. How did you escape the estate?"
"We didn't escape, Grandfather," Emma said, her voice amplified by the harbor's PA system, which she had hacked into. "We left. And we brought someone with us."
From the shadows of the shipping containers, a tall, imposing figure stepped forward.
The rain cascaded off the hood of his black tactical jacket. As he raised his head, the bright halogen floodlights of the dock caught his face.
Carter Blackwood.
Derek’s jaw dropped. Dominic Crane took a step back, his face turning completely white. "No... no, it's impossible! You drank the entire glass!"
"You should have used a better chemist, Dominic," Carter said, his voice carrying over the sound of the rain like thunder. "But then again, the only good chemist you had, you killed."
"Kill him!" Derek screamed to his men, drawing his own weapon. "Kill him now!"
But before his men could raise their guns, the red laser sights of a dozen high-powered sniper rifles painted the chests of every single one of Derek’s enforcers.
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From the rooftops of the surrounding warehouses, Carter’s elite, loyal strike team emerged, their weapons trained on the traitors.
"You thought you bought my syndicate, Derek?" Carter said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. "You forgot one thing. These men don't follow money. They follow the Crow."
