Chapter 7 - The Midnight Dock
At 11:00 PM on Sunday night, the rain over Port Newark was coming down in heavy, blinding sheets.
Terminal 4 was a vast, sprawling maze of shipping containers, giant cranes, and dark warehouses overlooking the black, churning waters of the bay.
I stood inside the heated glass control tower of the terminal, wearing a long waterproof coat and black boots, watching two massive cargo ships berth against the concrete pier.
Beside me stood Thomas Vance, Vincent’s head of security, holding a secure radio.
"The manifest for the Sovereign Star is completely clear, Claire," Thomas reported, showing me the digital log on his tablet. "Standard machinery parts and industrial raw materials from Rotterdam."
"Where is the secondary manifest?" I asked, my instincts humming with a subtle, uncomfortable warning.
Thomas hesitated for a split second. "Mr. Marlowe handles the secondary manifests personally. You don't need to worry about those."
My eyes narrowed. "I am the Executive Operations Director, Thomas. If a single crate sits on this dock under my authority, I own the paper trail. Show me the manifest."
Before Thomas could answer, the heavy steel door of the control tower swung open.
Vincent stepped inside, drenched in rain, his heavy dark coat clinging to his wide shoulders. His silver hair was plastered against his forehead, his dark eyes searching the room until they locked onto me.
"Claire," Vincent said, walking straight toward me. "You shouldn't be here tonight. The storm is getting worse."
"Why didn't you tell me about the secondary manifest for Terminal 4, Vincent?" I asked, standing my ground despite the overwhelming presence he brought into the small room.
Vincent stopped two feet away, looking down at me with a solemn, heavy expression.
"Because that manifest contains legitimate historical artifacts being moved out of Eastern Europe for asylum foundations," Vincent explained quietly. "It operates outside standard customs clearance to protect the families funding the transport. If the paperwork bears your name, it puts you at legal risk."
"You were protecting me again," I whispered, a mix of frustration and profound emotion rising in my chest.
"I will always protect you, Claire," Vincent said softly, reaching out to gently brush a wet strand of hair away from my cheek. His fingers lingered against my skin, warm and solid against the icy chill of the room.
Suddenly, Thomas’s radio squawked with loud, chaotic static.
"Boss! We've got three federal maritime vehicles pulling through the main gate! They have a master search warrant for Terminal 4!"
Vincent’s posture went instantly rigid. He pulled his hand back, his eyes turning to black ice.
"How many vehicles?" Vincent demanded into the radio.
"Three SUVs, sir! They claim they received an anonymous tip regarding illegal smuggling under Executive Director Claire Hayes's signature!"
I felt the blood drain from my face. "My signature? I never signed a secondary manifest!"
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Vincent looked out the glass window at the flashing red and blue lights speeding toward the dock.
"Marcus," Vincent growled softly, his fists clenching at his sides. "Marcus and Evan."
