Chapter 7 - The Intercept
Dominic stared at the tablet, his jaw tightening into a dangerous, lethal line.
"Rebecca Whitmore is far too stupid to organize a massive international financial conspiracy," Dominic stated flatly.
"I agree," I replied, completely bewildered by the digital evidence.
"My stepmother can barely operate her own email account without calling the IT department."
Someone was intentionally using the women of the Whitmore family as convenient, disposable shields.
First, my father used my signature for the illegal weapons manifest.
Then, someone used my deceased mother's name to steal the ten million dollars.
Now, Rebecca's name was permanently attached to a ghost ship currently docking in the city.
"We are going to Pier 4," Dominic announced, grabbing a fresh jacket to hide his bandaged arm.
"If that ship is unloading tonight, whoever is actually pulling the strings will be there to collect the cargo."
We rode in the armored SUV toward the docks, the tension inside the vehicle completely suffocating.
Pier 4 was a highly restricted, privately owned section of the Baltimore harbor.
"My men cannot breach this perimeter without triggering a massive federal police response," Dominic explained as we parked in a dark alley a block away.
"I can," I told him confidently.
I had spent my entire adult life meticulously managing the logistical security of these exact docks.
I led Dominic through a rusted chain-link fence and into a narrow maintenance tunnel that bypassed the main security checkpoints.
We emerged quietly onto the main dock, hiding perfectly behind massive stacks of wooden pallets.
The cargo ship was massive, completely painted in matte black without any visible company logos.
A massive crane was actively lowering a single, unmarked shipping container onto the concrete dock.
"That container doesn't match standard maritime dimensions," I whispered, analyzing the heavy metal box.
"It is reinforced with lead lining," Dominic observed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Four heavily armed men approached the container as the crane released its heavy cables.
They weren't wearing Russian cartel colors, and they definitely did not work for Dominic.
They punched a code into the keypad on the container door, and the heavy metal swung open.
Dominic raised his pistol, preparing to ambush the unknown operatives and seize the cargo.
But as the interior lights of the container flickered on, Dominic completely froze.
The container was absolutely not filled with stolen money, illegal weapons, or cartel drugs.
Sitting in a wooden chair in the exact center of the empty metal box was my stepmother, Rebecca.
She was bound tightly with heavy zip-ties, a piece of silver duct tape covering her mouth.
And strapped violently across her chest was a massive, highly complex explosive device.
The four armed men completely ignored her, rapidly arming the bomb and sprinting away into the darkness of the harbor.
They were not there to collect cargo; they were there to completely vaporize Pier 4.
"We have to go, now!" Dominic yelled, grabbing my arm to pull me back toward the maintenance tunnel.
But I couldn't move.
I stared at the woman who had made my life absolutely miserable for fifteen long years.
She was crying hysterically, staring directly at me with eyes full of absolute, undeniable terror.
May you like
"I can't just leave her to die," I said, ripping my arm away from Dominic's grip.
Before he could stop me, I sprinted across the open concrete dock directly toward the ticking bomb.
