Chapter 7 - The Surgeon's Phone Call & A Shadowed Deal
Dominic’s jaw tightened. The tender vulnerability in his eyes snapped shut, instantly replaced by the ice-cold focus of a commander under siege. He lowered his hand and picked up the red receiver.
“Mercer,” he said.
It was Dr. Vance. Even across the room, I could hear the high-pitched urgency in the surgeon's voice.
“Dominic, you need to check the financial news wires immediately,” Vance said, out of breath. “Senator Ashford just held an emergency press conference on the steps of City Hall. He claims Mercer Shipping has been using private harbor slips to import unlicensed hazardous industrial chemicals. The Port Authority and the FBI are currently executing a federal seizure warrant on your Red Hook terminal!”
Dominic didn't flinch. “Let them search. The manifests are clean.”
“That’s not all,” Vance added, his voice trembling. “Evelyn Ashford went on national television twenty minutes ago. She is claiming that you held her hostage in your penthouse, broke your engagement by threatening her life, and that you are using an undocumented, coerced cleaning maid as an accomplice to launder corporate funds.”
I gasped, dropping my mug onto the table. “She’s lying! That’s insane!”
Dominic held up a hand to calm me, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure steel. “Thank you, Vance. Keep two armed guards outside Mrs. Howard’s room. Nobody enters without my personal authorization code.”
He slammed the phone down and immediately pulled up the live news broadcast on his terminal.
There on the screen was Evelyn Ashford, dressed in a somber black mourning suit, dabbing fake tears from her eyes beneath the blinding flashes of a hundred paparazzi cameras. Behind her, Senator Ashford stood flanked by corrupt city officials, looking righteous and furious.
“Dominic Mercer is a monster,” Evelyn cried into the microphones. “He abused me emotionally for months, and when I discovered his illegal shipping kickbacks, he threw me out and replaced me with a vulnerable woman he has been exploiting under duress! I am asking the Department of Justice to intervene immediately!”
The lower third of the screen flashed: BREAKING: MERCER SHIPPING ASSETS FROZEN PENDING FEDERAL TERRORISM & HARBOR CONTRABAND PROBE.
“They planted evidence,” I said, panic rising in my throat like bile. “Dominic, they planted something in your Red Hook warehouse while we were at the hospital!”
Dominic stood tall, walking over to his wall safe. He entered a six-digit code and pulled out an encrypted black hard drive and a stack of satellite logistics logs.
“They didn't plant contraband, Grace,” Dominic said calmly, loading a fresh magazine into his Kimber .45. “They think they did. Senator Ashford used his private security firm, Ashford Tactical, to move four shipping containers into Berth 14 at 2:00 a.m. last night.”
“Then you’re in danger! If the FBI finds those containers—”
“The FBI won’t find contraband,” Dominic interrupted, turning around with a chilling, triumphant smirk. “Because three hours ago, my harbor master swapped the tracking numbers on those containers. Berth 14 is empty. The containers Ashford’s men loaded with illegal unregistered weapons aren't registered to Mercer Shipping.”
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My eyes widened as the realization hit me. “They’re registered to Ashford Tactical.”
“Senator Ashford just signed his own federal indictment on live television,” Dominic said, holding out his hand to me. “Now, Grace Howard... it is time we go to the harbor and watch the trap spring shut.”
