Chapter 8 - Evelyn’s Venomous Ambush
The rain had turned into a torrential downpour as our motorcade sped toward the Red Hook waterfront in Brooklyn. The industrial harbor was an ominous landscape of towering iron cranes, stacked steel shipping containers, and churning black ocean waters.
Blue and red flashing lights lit up the stormy sky. A dozen federal law enforcement vehicles and Port Authority tactical units had already cordoned off the entrance to Pier 42.
Standing in the center of the staging area under a heavy umbrella was Senator Ashford, surrounded by television news crews he had invited to witness Dominic’s public ruin. Evelyn was standing beside him, wrapped in a fur coat, looking like a queen anticipating an execution.
When Dominic’s armored Maybach pulled through the barricades, the reporters swarmed the vehicle like vultures.
“Mr. Mercer! Are you surrendering to federal custody?”
“Did you threaten Miss Ashford?”
“Who is the woman in your car?”
Dominic stepped out into the rain. He didn't carry an umbrella. He stood tall, broad, and untouchable, the rain soaking his dark wool coat as he walked around to open my door. He extended his hand, and I took it, stepping out onto the wet asphalt in my ivory suit, holding my head high.
The flashing cameras exploded with blinding light.
Evelyn marched forward, her eyes wild with malicious triumph. “You arrogant bastard! You brought your little servant girl to your own arrest? How poetic!”
Senator Ashford stepped forward, flanked by the lead FBI Special Agent. “Dominic, give up. We have the manifests. Berth 14 contains fifty metric tons of undeclared military-grade ordnance. You’re looking at thirty years in ADX Florence.”
Dominic didn't even look at the Senator. He looked directly at the Special Agent in charge.
“Agent Miller,” Dominic said calmly over the sound of the howling wind. “Before you pry open Berth 14, I suggest you review the Port of New York’s digital registry logs from 1:00 a.m. Miss Howard, give the agent the drive.”
I stepped forward and placed the encrypted military-grade hard drive into Agent Miller’s hand.
“What is this garbage?” Senator Ashford barked. “Agent, ignore them! Open the containers!”
Agent Miller plugged the drive into his rugged field laptop. Within seconds, his eyes widened. He clicked through multiple encrypted feeds.
“Sir,” Agent Miller said, looking up at Senator Ashford with a suddenly cold, rigid expression. “These logs show that the tracking serials on Berth 14 were reassigned twelve hours ago. Berth 14 is carrying licensed agricultural grain for Mercer Food Relief.”
Evelyn gasped. “What? That’s impossible!”
“Furthermore,” Agent Miller continued, his voice echoing across the silent harbor, “these digital bills of lading, verified by the Coast Guard’s automated transponders, show that the four containers carrying unregistered military hardware were loaded onto Barge 7... which is owned, operated, and insured exclusively by Ashford Tactical Holdings.”
Silence fell over Pier 42 like a funeral shroud. Even the reporters lowered their microphones in absolute shock.
“No...” Senator Ashford stammered, the color draining from his face until he looked like a corpse. “That’s a forgery! This is a Mercer setup!”
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“Open Barge 7,” Agent Miller commanded into his tactical radio.
Fifty yards away, hydraulic cutters sheared through the locks of the container. The heavy steel doors swung open. Under the blinding halogen floodlights, federal agents pulled back the tarps to reveal crates of illegal, unregistered military weaponry bearing the official corporate seal of the Ashford Security Group.
