Chapter 9 - THE WAREHOUSE ON 4TH STREET
By 2:00 AM, the small boat glided into a narrow, mud-slicked intake canal behind the rusted steel walls of the 4th Street shipping terminal.
The massive building stood like a black monolith against the city skyline—a forgotten remnant of the old port district, its corrugated iron panels streaked with rust and overgrown with river ivy.
Julian helped Elowen onto the rotting wooden dock. Using her iron key, she unlocked a small utility door tucked beneath a rusty fire escape.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old engine oil, damp concrete, and aged paper. Julian clicked on a small pocket flashlight he had pulled from the boat's emergency kit, sweeping the light across giant, empty storage bays.
"My father died in a car crash on Highway 9," Julian said, his voice echoing in the vast, hollow space. "The police report said he lost control during a rainstorm."
"Your father was a master driver, Julian," Elowen said, leading him down a spiral iron staircase toward a subterranean basement level. "He didn't lose control. Three days before his death, he discovered that Victor was using Thorne Global's international shipping lanes to traffic illegal military hardware."
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Elowen stopped in front of a massive, double-walled steel safe built directly into the foundation wall of the basement.
"Arthur knew Victor was going to kill him," Elowen whispered, her eyes filled with haunting memories. "The night before the 'accident,' your father came to me in secret. He gave me the master ledger and the original toxicology report from his private doctor."
