Chapter 15 - The Line in the Sand
When Henrik Vance walked out to his Mercedes, Nathan didn't wait. He picked up his radio and barked two orders.
Within ten seconds, two giant yellow front-end loaders rumbled out from the maintenance sheds, dropping their massive steel buckets squarely across the pier’s main exit road, blocking the Mercedes entirely.
Henrik Vance’s driver stepped out of the vehicle, reaching toward his armpit, but Nathan was already there. Nathan slammed the driver against the warm hood of the Mercedes, his forearm pinned against the man’s throat, while Luke reached into the driver’s jacket and smoothly pulled out a suppressed Glock 19.
"You’re in Newport, Mr. Vance," Nathan shouted through the tinted passenger window. "You aren't on an offshore oil platform, and you aren't in a Swiss boardroom."
Henrik Vance slowly rolled down the rear window, looking down at Luke holding the confiscated weapon.
"This is an act of war against a sovereign investment firm," Vance said calmly.
"No," I said, walking down the stone stairs of the office building, carrying my father’s original harbor logbook. "This is a trespass warning. If any vessel, vehicle, or employee bearing the Vance-Corbin mark enters the Bennett shipyard, my brothers will sink it at the slip."
I tossed a copy of the federal indictment into his lap.
"The bonds Preston took are in the evidence lockup at the Department of Justice," I told him. "He registered them in his own personal shell company three months ago to pay off his gambling debts in the Bahamas. Your golden boy didn't just fail you; he stole from you. And now you’re trying to bully a mother and two shipyard mechanics because you’re too cowardly to face the federal prosecutors who have your money."
Vance looked at the document. For the first time, a crack of genuine fury appeared behind his icy exterior. He realized Preston had betrayed both sides.
"You may have the law on your side in Rhode Island, Mrs. Bennett," Vance said, his voice hardening like winter ice. "But the law ends twelve miles off the coast. Bennett ships still have to cross international waters."
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"Let them try," Nathan said, leaning into the window frame. "Our father taught us how to navigate storms long before Preston Vale was born. Now move your car off our pier before I drop a ten-ton shipping container through your engine block."
Luke tossed the dismantled pieces of the driver's gun into the salt water between the dock pilings with three quick splashes. Nathan signaled the loader drivers, who raised their buckets just enough to let the Mercedes speed away, its tires squealing against the damp gravel.
