Chapter 17 - The Bait
The hours leading up to midnight moved with agonizing slowness. I had moved Rosie from the neighbor's house to a secure hotel room across town, guarded by an off-duty officer the lead detective had personally vouched for. Kissing her sleeping forehead, I promised her, silently, that when she woke up, the monsters would finally be gone.
By 11:00 PM, Arthur and I were parked a quarter-mile from the shipyard. The air was thick with the smell of saltwater and rusting metal. The fog rolling in off the bay created an eerie, isolating atmosphere, wrapping the abandoned shipping containers in a thick, gray shroud.
The detective had arrived with a specialized FBI task force. They were dressed in black tactical gear, blending seamlessly into the shadows of the docks. They wired Arthur with a microscopic microphone and camera, securing the transmitter beneath his heavy jacket.
"Remember the objective, Arthur," the lead FBI agent whispered, adjusting Arthur's collar. "We need her to explicitly state her intent. We need her to acknowledge the ledger, her role in the extortion, and the hit she ordered on her sibling. Until she crosses that legal threshold, we cannot move in. If you panic and break character, she walks."
Arthur swallowed hard, giving a curt nod. He looked terrifyingly pale, the reality of crossing the most dangerous woman in the city finally settling in his bones.
I stood in the back of the surveillance van, surrounded by glowing monitors and the crackle of radio static. I would be watching the entire confrontation on a screen, utterly powerless to intervene once Arthur walked into the kill zone.
"You're doing the right thing, Arthur," I told him, holding his gaze. "She would have killed you tonight anyway. This is your only way out."
He didn't reply, just zipped his jacket and stepped out into the freezing fog.
Through the camera feed on the monitor, I watched Arthur’s point of view as he navigated the maze of rusting shipping containers. The silence of the shipyard was deafening, broken only by the sound of his boots echoing against the wet asphalt.
At exactly midnight, he reached the center clearing, an open space illuminated by the pale moonlight cutting through the fog.
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A pair of headlights suddenly blinded the camera lens. A sleek, black SUV pulled into the clearing, its engine purring with quiet menace. The doors opened, and two massive men in dark suits stepped out, their hands hovering near their waistbands.
And then, stepping out from the back seat, wrapped in an elegant trench coat and wearing a smile that didn't reach her eyes, was Bethany. The trap was sprung.
