Chapter 7 - The Butcher’s Ledger
The basement holding cells beneath the Brooklyn Navy Yard smelled of rust, damp salt water, and old blood.
Julian Vance was strapped to a heavy steel chair bolted to the concrete floor, his shattered shoulder crudely wrapped in gauze.
His face was covered in a cold sweat, his aristocratic arrogance beginning to fray under the flickering fluorescent bulb.
I walked down the concrete steps, tossing the broken red toy truck onto the steel table in front of him.
The metal clinked against the table, echoing off the damp walls like a gunshot.
“You look tired, Ethan,” Julian wheezed, forcing a bloodied smirk to mask the terror in his eyes.
“Did the little orphan boy slip through your fingers while you were playing the hero?”
I didn't answer with words.
I picked up a steel crowbar resting against the brick pillar and drove it through the front wheel of his chair, snapping the leg in two.
Julian crashed to the floor, still tied to the metal frame, his injured shoulder slamming against the hard concrete.
A ragged scream ripped out of his throat as fresh blood seeped through his bandages.
“You have ninety seconds to give me the exact hangar number at Teterboro,” I said, stepping over him until my shoe rested against his neck.
“Ethan, wait! He won't talk to you, he wants you dead!” Julian gasped, choking against the pressure on his windpipe.
“He’s not even at Teterboro!
The letter was a diversion to pull your men away from the harbor!”
I froze, keeping my weight pressed down on his throat.
“Explain.”
“Father doesn't use planes anymore!” Julian choked out, his eyes bulging as panic took over.
“He bought an offshore research vessel three months ago... the Leviathan.
It’s anchored twelve miles outside federal maritime waters, off the coast of Montauk!”
I lifted my foot off his throat, letting him cough and gasp for air on the cold floor.
“Why Montauk?”
“Because outside twelve nautical miles, the United States Coast Guard has no immediate jurisdiction over foreign-flagged medical research vessels,” Julian panted, tears mixing with the grime on his cheeks.
“He built an entire surgical theatre on that ship.
He has a team of rogue transplant surgeons flown in from Zurich waiting for the donor tissue.
The boy’s blood profile is the only one on the planet that can counteract the rejection in Father’s bone marrow.”
“And Clara?” I asked, leaning down until my eyes were inches from his.
“Why did you try to kidnap her from the clinic if you only needed the boy?”
Julian let out a broken, pathetic laugh that bubbled with dark bile.
“Because Clara isn't just his foster daughter, Ethan... you fool.
You spent twelve years building an empire, and you never even looked at your own birth certificate.”
The air in the cold basement grew dangerously thin.
“Speak clearly before I break your other arm,” I warned him.
“Clara was Marcus’s biological child from his first wife, the woman who supposedly died in that car crash in ninety-four!” Julian spat, his face pale with agony.
“Marcus kept her in that foster home to hide her from the European trusts until she came of age!
And Leo... Leo isn't just Clara’s child.
Leo is the direct heir to the entire Vance family maritime trust, worth four billion dollars in Swiss bonds.”
The puzzle pieces didn't just fall into place; they shattered the entire foundation of who I thought I was.
Marcus Vance hadn't kept Clara out of twisted charity or sadism alone.
He had turned his own daughter into a living lab animal to bypass inheritance laws and sustain his own failing body with her offspring’s blood.
“Where is the transfer boat departing from?” I asked, my voice deadly and calm.
“Pier Forty-Two in Red Hook,” Julian whispered, defeated, his head falling back against the concrete.
“The speedboats leave at ten-thirty sharp.
You’ll never make it across the bay in time.”
I checked my watch: it was ten-fifteen.
I turned toward Marcus, who was standing by the heavy steel exit door with two submachine guns slung over his shoulders.
“Call our docks at Sunset Park,” I commanded.
May you like
“Prep the twin-engine interceptor craft and wake up every sniper on our payroll.
We’re going hunting on the water.”
