Chapter 4 - The Shadow of Councilman Peters
At 2:30 AM, the blizzard over Detroit raged with unrelenting fury.
Three miles south of Blackwood Tower, in the industrial wasteland near the frozen Detroit River, sat the derelict ruins of the Miller Meatpacking Plant. The massive brick structure was surrounded by rusting chain-link fences, barbed wire, and dark alleys filled with drifted snow.
Inside the building's central cutting floor, two harsh halogen work lights illuminated a grim scene.
Naomi Vance was tied securely to a heavy iron chair in the middle of the room. Her winter coat was gone, her face bruised and pale, her lips chapped from the cold. Yet, despite three days of interrogation, her eyes burned with a fierce, stubborn defiance.
Standing four feet away, wearing a long mink-collared coat and sipping brandy from a crystal glass, was Councilman Victor Peters.
At fifty-two, Peters was a powerful, corrupt politician who controlled the city's zoning boards, port authorities, and local law enforcement budgets. He was the secret architect of the syndicate that had tried to eliminate Julian Blackwood seven years ago.
"I’ll ask you one last time, Naomi," Peters said smoothly, his voice echoing off the stained concrete walls. "Where is the 2019 ledger? Your late brother took it from my office before he died. We searched your apartment from top to bottom. It wasn't there."
Naomi spat a mouthful of blood onto the concrete near his polished shoes. "Go to hell, Peters. You won't find anything."
Peters let out a tired sigh, setting his glass on a nearby wooden crate. He gestured to two heavily armed enforcers standing in the shadows behind him—men belonging to the notorious Iron Skull mercenary group.
"You're making this unnecessarily painful, my dear," Peters murmured. "I know you have two children. A little girl named Pearl and a boy named Jonah. My men are searching the shelters in the East Ward right now. Once we find them—"
"If you touch my children, I will tear your heart out with my bare teeth!" Naomi shrieked, struggling frantically against the heavy ropes binding her wrists.
"You won't be tearing anything out, Naomi," Peters chuckled coldly, pulling a small silver revolver from his coat pocket. "Because once I get that ledger, your children will be quietly disposed of in the river."
Suddenly, the heavy iron double doors at the far end of the cutting floor blew inward with an explosive, deafening BOOM!
A wall of fire, shattered metal, and concrete dust flooded into the room.
Before Peters or his mercenaries could react, three flashbang grenades bounced across the blood-stained floor, exploding in rapid succession with blinding white light and thunderous force.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The mercenaries shrieked, clutching their eyes and ears as they stumbled blindly through the smoke.
Through the white mist walked Julian Blackwood.
He wore a dark tactical coat, his high-caliber automatic pistol held low and ready. Behind him, six elite Blackwood operatives clad in dark body armor swept through the room with terrifying, mechanical coordination.
THWIP. THWIP. THWIP.
Suppressed gunfire cut through the smoke. Within eight seconds, Peters’ four personal bodyguards were systematically neutralized, their weapons clattering away across the concrete floor.
Peters panicked, dropping his brandy glass, scrambling backward against an iron pillar, pulling his revolver with slick, trembling fingers.
Julian stepped out of the lingering smoke, stopping directly in front of Naomi’s chair.
He didn't look at Peters. He looked at Naomi.
"You're late, Blackwood," Naomi rasped through her swollen lips, a faint, tearful smile touching her face.
Julian reached into his pocket, pulled out a tactical blade, and severed her ropes with a single, swift motion.
"I had to make sure your children were settled in my penthouse first, Naomi," Julian said softly, holding out his hand to help her stand. "Pearl is a remarkable girl. She takes after her mother."
Naomi let out a shuddering sob, collapsing against Julian’s chest as he wrapped his heavy coat around her bruised shoulders.
"Where... where are they?" Naomi wept. "Are they safe?"
"They are warm, fed, and sleeping in my home," Julian promised softly.
"BLACKWOOD!"
Peters’ voice shrieked from behind the pillar. The corrupt councilman stepped out, holding his small silver revolver with both trembling hands, aiming it directly at Julian’s heart.
"You think you've won?!" Peters screamed, sweat pouring down his pale face. "I have fifty men surrounding this entire district! You walk out of here, and the police chief will have an arrest warrant for you by sunrise!"
Julian slowly turned around. He looked at Peters—not with anger, nor with hatred, but with the cold, absolute detachment of a judge delivering a final verdict.
"The police chief was arrested twenty minutes ago by federal agents, Victor," Julian stated flatly. "And your fifty men in the district were disarmed by my teams an hour ago."
Julian took a slow, calm step toward Peters.
"Seven years ago, you took my wife and my child," Julian growled softly, his gray eyes locking onto Peters' trembling soul. "I let you live because I needed to rebuild my empire. But tonight... you threatened the children of the woman who saved my life."
Peters raised his revolver—
THWIP.
Julian fired a single, precise round through Peters’ right wrist. The silver revolver flew from his shattered hand, bouncing across the floor.
Peters collapsed to his knees, screaming in agonizing pain, clutching his bloody wrist.
"Marcus," Julian called out, turning his back on the weeping politician.
May you like
"Yes, Boss?"
"Deliver Councilman Peters to the Federal Courthouse in downtown Detroit," Julian ordered coldly. "Alongside the 2019 ledger. Let the state tear him apart piece by piece."
