Chapter 8 - The Showdown in Savannah
The Port of Savannah was a maze of towering shipping containers, rusted cranes, and biting coastal winds. Fog hung low over the dark water.
At Pier 14, a sleek, 120-foot private yacht lay docked, its diesel engines humming in preparation for departure.
On the concrete pier stood Arthur Vance, leaning on his cane, surrounded by four armed guards. Beside him, in a wheelchair wrapped in blankets, sat Evelyn Miller, her face pale, her oxygen tank resting beside her.
I stepped out of my vehicle, holding the black ledger in one hand and the cassette tape in the other. Grace stood right beside me.
"Drop the dramatic hero act, Henry!" Arthur shouted across the fog-drenched pier, his voice echoing off the corrugated steel containers. "You were always too sentimental! You could have been a multi-billionaire if you hadn't cared so much about ethics!"
"You killed a good man, Arthur!" I yelled back, stepping forward slowly. "David Miller was ten times the man you will ever be!"
Arthur chuckled darkly. "He was a nobody! A grease-monkey who stuck his nose into business that didn't belong to him! Just like his daughter!"
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Knox stepped out from behind a container, holding a suppressed assault rifle aimed straight at my chest. "Give us the tape and the ledger, Oseni, or the old woman dies right here."
Grace stepped in front of me, glaring directly at Arthur. "You took my father, Arthur Vance! But you won't take my mother!"
