Chapter 8 - The Container
I threw my body against the heavy steel doors, pushing with all my strength.
They didn't move a single inch.
I was completely locked inside a metal box in the middle of a massive shipping yard.
Panic clawed at my throat as the reality of my situation set in.
I pulled out my cell phone, praying I had enough signal to call 911.
The screen displayed a terrifying red message: NO SERVICE.
The thick steel walls of the shipping container were blocking the cellular signal completely.
Suddenly, the floor beneath my feet violently lurched.
A deafening mechanical grinding noise echoed through the metal walls.
I lost my balance and fell hard against a stack of cardboard boxes.
The entire container was being lifted into the air by a massive industrial crane.
I crawled to the corner of the box, wrapping my arms around my knees to brace for impact.
After a terrifying minute of swaying in the air, the container dropped with a heavy thud.
The deep, rumbling vibration of a massive diesel engine vibrated through the floorboards.
I was being loaded onto a cargo ship.
I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight app to assess my surroundings.
The beam of light swept across the stacked boxes inside the container.
They were not filled with counterfeit dresses like I had assumed.
One of the boxes had broken open during the rough landing.
I crawled over to it and looked inside.
The box was filled to the brim with neatly stacked bricks of hundred-dollar bills.
Millions of dollars in pure cash were sitting right in front of me.
I noticed a clipboard hanging on the wall next to the boxes.
I grabbed it and read the attached shipping manifest.
The document detailed the transfer of fifty million dollars in cash to a cartel in Colombia.
At the bottom of the page, authorizing the illegal shipment, was a signature.
It was my signature.
It was a flawless forgery of my handwriting.
Arthur wasn't just laundering money; he was completely framing me for the entire international operation.
If this ship left the harbor and was intercepted by the authorities, I would take the fall for everything.
I desperately searched my phone for any other way to communicate.
Then I remembered the expensive smart watch I was wearing on my wrist.
It had a built-in emergency satellite SOS feature designed for my sailing trips.
I activated the distress beacon, hoping the satellite signal could punch through the metal roof.
I sat in the dark, surrounded by millions of dollars, waiting for a miracle.
Suddenly, the massive steel doors of the container violently swung open.
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I scrambled backward as harsh flashlights blinded my eyes.
“FBI! Put your hands in the air!” a voice roared into the container.
