[CONTENT TEMPLATE HERE]
Chapter 744:
She was already gone, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor as she rounded the corner and disappeared into the elevator, leaving Kevin standing there alone, staring after her with the stack of papers still in his hands.
Joan took the elevator down to the parking garage, climbed into her Aston Martin, and kicked off her heels, pulling on the black flats she kept in the car for emergencies. She turned the key, and the engine roared to life.
She peeled out of the garage, tires screeching.
Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, she called Easton. He answered on the first ring.
“Joan? Everything okay p>
“Arthur found Mike,” she said, her voice tight with excitement and tension. “He’s at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. I’m on my way there now p>
Easton’s tone shifted immediately. “Don’t go in alone. Wait for me. I’m at the courthouse—I’ll be there in twenty minutes p>
“I can’t wait. He’s trying to leave the country. If we don’t get him now, we’ll never find him again p>
“Joan, listen to me,” Easton said firmly. “This is too dangerous. Wait for me. I’m bringing three of our best men. We’ll go in together. Okay p>
𝘙𝗼ma𝘯𝘤𝗲 a𝗻𝗱 pаsѕ𝗂𝘰𝗻 оո
Joan hesitated. Then she exhaled. “Okay. I’ll wait at the entrance to the warehouse. But hurry p>
“I will. Be careful p>
She hung up and pressed her foot harder on the gas. The Aston Martin wove through traffic, speeding toward Brooklyn.
Forty minutes later, she pulled into the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
It was a desolate, forgotten place. Rows of rusted warehouses stretched as far as the eye could see. The air smelled of salt water and oil and rust. Graffiti covered every wall. The only sounds were the wind moving through the empty buildings and the distant cry of seagulls.
Joan parked behind a pile of old shipping containers. She got out, pulling her trench coat tighter, her hand resting on the gun in her purse.
A black Ford SUV arrived a few minutes later. Easton stepped out, followed by three large men in black suits. He walked toward her, his eyes moving steadily across the yard.
“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out to touch her arm.
Joan nodded. “I’m fine. Where’s Arthur p>
As if on cue, a man stepped out of the shadows of the nearest warehouse. He was tall and thin, with gray hair and cold, sharp eyes. He bowed slightly.
“Miss Erickson,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “He’s inside. Tried to buy a fake passport to Mexico. We caught him at the dock ten minutes ago. He’s locked in the shipping container out back p>
Joan took a slow breath. “Show me p>
Arthur nodded, turned, and led the way into the warehouse.
Joan followed, Easton close beside her. The space was vast and dark, filled with old machinery and piles of scrap metal. Sunlight streamed through broken windows, casting long, jagged shadows across the floor.
In the center of the warehouse, sitting alone, was a bright red shipping container.
Arthur walked up to it and pulled down the heavy metal handle. The door opened with a long, screeching groan.
Joan stepped forward, into the darkness, to face the man who had killed her mother.