Chapter 8 - The Shipyard Confrontation
I gripped the cheap burner phone tightly, my mind racing through a million impossible, terrifying scenarios.
I knew I could not possibly access the stolen renovation money, because Mr. Sterling had already buried it in an offshore account.
I looked at Marcus, who was slowly standing up and wiping the blood from his bruised face with fierce determination.
He told me we were not going to play by Brandon's rules, and he immediately dialed a direct line to his closest FBI contacts.
We formed a desperate, highly dangerous tactical plan that relied entirely on my ability to distract the ruthless cartel members.
I drove alone to the desolate, foggy industrial shipyard, stepping out of the car into the freezing, salty night air.
The massive steel shipping containers loomed like dark, silent monsters in the thick gray mist.
I walked toward the edge of the dark water, tightly holding a metal briefcase that was completely empty inside.
Brandon was waiting near the end of the wooden dock, pacing nervously with a loaded handgun gripped in his hand.
Skylar was tied tightly to a rusty metal chair behind him, crying softly with a dirty cloth gag tied over her mouth.
Gertrude and the terrifying, heavily scarred cartel boss were standing right next to her, looking incredibly impatient.
Brandon pointed his gun at my chest and aggressively demanded that I hand over the briefcase full of cash immediately.
I stopped walking and confidently announced that I did not bring a single penny of the cartel's money.
I revealed that I brought the entire federal bureau of investigation, and the shipyard was already completely surrounded.
Gertrude let out a shrill, deranged laugh that echoed horrifyingly across the dark, freezing water.
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She pulled a black remote detonator from her coat pocket, revealing thick red wires strapped directly to Skylar's metal chair.
She claimed the entire dock was wired with military-grade explosives, and she was perfectly willing to blow us all to hell.
