Chapter 6 - The Setup at Pier 4
The strategy developed over the next forty-eight hours was a precise, high-stakes corporate assassination. Victor Vance believed Vivian Cross was dead, her body lost to the deep currents of the harbor, and that the micro-SD card had been destroyed by the salt water. He had no idea that a twenty-nine-year-old baker had pulled his prize out of the dark.
"We use the locket as bait," Elena said, standing around the glass tactical table in Dominic’s private study. Marco and Dominic looked at her, surprised by the sudden, strategic authority coming from a woman who usually spent her hours calculating yeast activation times.
"Explain," Dominic commanded, leaning his hip against the edge of the mahogany desk.
"Victor Vance sent his men to the bakery because he knows the locket exists," Elena explained, pointing to the silver casing resting on the glass map. "He doesn't know I extracted the card. We let it slip through the harbor grapevine that I am panicked, that I am trying to sell the silver locket to a local pawn shop near Pier 4 to get enough cash to flee the city. Victor will send his primary enforcement team to secure it himself. He won't risk a proxy missing it twice."
"It's too dangerous for you, Elena," Marco intervened. "You aren't an operative. If Victor senses an ambush, he will order his sniper team to clear the entire block."
"He won't sense an ambush if the person holding the locket looks exactly like what she is—a terrified civilian who is out of her depth," Elena countered, her round face steady, her green eyes fixed on Dominic. "You told me this morning that courage without power is just a slow way to die, Mr. Cross. Well, right now, I’m the only power you have to draw him out into the open where your tactical teams can secure him. Let me do this."
Dominic stared at her for a long, heavy minute. He walked over to her side of the table, his massive frame towering over her, but the predatory edge had vanished from his posture. He reached out, his large, scarred hand gently resting on her shoulder. The warmth of his touch sent an unfamiliar, electric current through Elena’s body.
"If a single hair on your head is touched, Elena Brooks," Dominic said, his voice ringing with a quiet, terrifying oath, "I will burn every shipping vessel Victor Vance owns while he is still on board. You wear our wire. Marco will be fifty yards out with the suppression team. You are never alone."
At 3:00 AM the following morning, the fog rolled back into the San Diego harbor, thick and freezing. Elena walked down the slick wooden planks of Pier 4, her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets, her fingers tightly gripping the empty silver locket. The sound of her boots echoed against the dark hulls of the massive container ships.
A set of headlights flashed through the mist behind her. A silver luxury sedan idled near the edge of the crane tracks. The door opened, and a man in a pristine camel-hair coat stepped out. Victor Vance was in his late fifties, silver-haired, polished, and carried the smooth, aristocratic arrogance of a man who believed his wealth made him a god.
"Miss Brooks," Victor said, his voice smooth, completely contrasting the brutal nature of the thugs he employed. "I believe you have an item of property that belongs to my late associate, Richard Vance. Let's make this quick. Hand it over, and you can walk back to your little apartment alive."
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Elena pulled her hand from her pocket, letting the silver locket dangle from her fingers, the engraving catching the faint amber light of the dock lanterns. "I want fifty thousand dollars, Mr. Vance. Cash. And I want a guarantee that your men won't ever look at my bakery again."
Victor chuckled, a dark, dismissive sound as he stepped closer, his hand reaching inside his coat for a sleek, silenced pistol. "You're a very sweet girl, Elena. Truly. But in the shipping business... we don't pay for assets we can easily take from a corpse."
