Chapter 5 - The Cold Storage Trap
The old canal district was a graveyard of rusted iron, decaying brick, and dark, stagnant water. Heavy fog hung low over the river, swallowing the yellow light of the distant streetlamps.
Two unmarked black sedans rolled to a stop two blocks away from the massive, looming silhouette of the abandoned Moretti Cold Storage Plant. The concrete building looked like a medieval fortress, its high, narrow windows boarded up with heavy timber.
Inside the rear sedan, Luca checked the action of his weapon under the dim interior light. Beside him, Naomi pulled the straps of a Kevlar vest tight over her dark wool coat.
"If anything happens inside," Luca said, placing a hand over hers, "you stay behind Marco. You do not try to be a hero. You do not step into an open doorway. Do you understand me?"
Naomi looked at his hand—large, warm, covered in silver rings and faint scars from a life spent in the shadows. "I came to help you finish this, Luca. Not to get in your way."
"You've already saved my family once today," he said softly, his thumb gently brushing her knuckles. "I intend to keep you alive so you can do it again tomorrow."
Marco knocked twice on the driver’s window. "Frankie just initiated the diversion in Gary. Cole’s security detail at the front gate just received a radio call—half their team is pulling out to reinforce the Indiana yard."
"Good," Luca said, his voice instantly hardening. "We go through the loading dock on the east side. Silent until we hit the lower vault."
The team moved like shadows through the freezing rain. Marco led the way, using wire cutters to slice through the chain-link fence surrounding the perimeter. They slipped past two patrolling guards, Marco disabling the second man with a swift, silent blow from the butt of his pistol before the guard could even raise his radio.
They entered through a rusted iron door that creaked softly on its hinges, stepping into a cavernous, dark room that smelled of damp concrete, old grease, and copper. The air was cold enough to turn their breath into thick white plumes.
Luca held up his hand, signaling the team to stop. From somewhere deep below their feet, through the thick concrete flooring, came the faint sound of a generator humming, accompanied by voices.
They crept down a narrow, winding flight of metal stairs that led into the sub-basement. At the end of a long corridor lined with rusted meat hooks hung a heavy steel vault door, standing partially ajar. Bright halogen light spilled out onto the concrete floor.
Luca peeked through the gap.
Inside the brightly lit vault, Arthur Cole sat at a folding table, a satellite laptop open in front of him, frantically typing. Standing beside him was Vivien, her cream dress now covered by a black trench coat, holding a glass of wine. Standing near the back wall, leaning on a silver-topped cane, was a tall, withered old man with a deep scar running down his right jawline.
Dominic Vance.
On the table between them lay the black leather binders from the Moretti safe, along with a thick stack of legal papers.
"The wire transfer is fifty percent complete," Arthur Cole said, his voice echoing slightly in the concrete chamber. "Once the Zurich bank receives the verified power of attorney form from your contact at the registry, the terminal deeds will be reissued under Vance Logistics."
"Where is the signature page?" Dominic Vance asked, his voice a dry, rattling hiss. "Arthur, you promised me Isabella’s mark would be on these documents before midnight."
Vivien's face darkened. "That maid ruined it! She broke the lock before I could get the full thumbprint!"
"Then we forge it!" Arthur snapped. "We have her medical records from three years ago! A forensic expert in Panama will pass it in two hours!"
"You won't need Panama," a deep voice boomed from the darkness of the corridor.
The vault door was kicked wide open, slamming against the concrete wall with a sound like thunder.
Luca stepped across the threshold, his pistol raised, flanked by Marco and three armed men. Naomi stepped in right behind Marco, her eyes locking onto the legal papers spread across the folding table.
Arthur Cole gasped, dropping his pen, while Vivien let out a choked scream, stumbling backward into a stack of wooden crates.
Only Dominic Vance didn't flinch. The old man slowly turned, resting both hands on his silver cane, a bitter, cold smile spreading across his scarred face.
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"Luca Moretti," Vance rasped, his yellowed eyes glittering under the halogen light. "You look just like your father when he came to ruin me thirty years ago."
"You should have stayed dead, Vance," Luca said, his weapon pointed directly at the center of Vance’s chest. "It would have been less painful than what happens to you tonight."
