Chapter 7 - THE WAREHOUSE OF DEAD MENDeclan refused to let Clary go to the waterfront alone.
She argued until her voice grew hoarse.
“You can't protect me by locking me away!”
“I'm not locking you away.”
“Then why do I need guards every time I walk down a hallway?”
“Because someone is photographing us inside my own home!”
“And I'm supposed to live like this forever?”
“No.”
“Then stop treating me like something you own!”
The words struck him.
Declan had spent his life confusing protection with control. In his world, the person who controlled the situation was the person who survived.
Clary had never asked to become part of that world.
He took a slow breath.
“You're right. I won't force you to stay. But I need you to understand the danger.”
“I understand danger better than you think.”
She lifted her sleeve, revealing the faint bruising around her wrist.
“Every time someone threatened Tommy, I had to decide whether to pay rent or buy him medicine. Every time I went to work, I wondered whether I'd come home to find him gone. I don't need you to explain fear to me.”
Declan's expression softened.
“I know.”
“No. You don't. But you can listen.”
He nodded.
“I can do that.”
They agreed that Clary and Tommy would remain at a secure location outside the mansion while Declan and his security team investigated the warehouse.
The waterfront was deserted when they arrived.
Rain swept across the loading docks, and the warehouse doors creaked in the wind.
Declan entered with two trusted guards.
Inside, the air smelled of rust, oil, and damp wood.
An office stood on a metal platform above the main floor.
The brass key opened the desk drawer.
Inside were photographs, account books, and a small digital recorder.
Declan pressed play.
His father's voice emerged from the speaker.
“If you're hearing this, I failed to protect the people I love.”
A second voice answered.
Victor Sloane.
“You have no choice. Sign the transfer documents, and your son will live.”
Declan stopped breathing.
His father's voice returned.
“You promised my family would be left alone.”
“Promises are expensive, Knox. Your empire is worth more than your son.”
A chair scraped across the floor.
Then a gunshot sounded on the recording.
Silence followed.
Declan played it again.
The recording proved Victor had threatened his father, but it didn't establish who fired the shot.
He searched the desk and found a folder containing copies of financial transfers. Several payments had been routed through companies linked to Arthur and Elias Mercer.
The dates stretched across two decades.
Arthur had received money shortly before Declan's father's death.
Declan stared at the figures.
“Was he paid to betray my father?”
One of the guards shook his head.
“We need more evidence.”
A noise came from the warehouse entrance.
Declan drew his weapon.
“Who's there?”
A man stepped into the light.
Elias Mercer.
He wore a dark coat and the silver ring Clary had described.
“Put the gun down, Declan.”
“You first.”
Mercer smiled.
“You're looking for the truth. I can give it to you.”
“You've been threatening a woman and her brother.”
“I gave Tommy opportunities. He chose to gamble.”
“You broke his arm.”
“He owed money.”
“You manipulated the debt.”
Mercer's smile faded.
“Your father used to say the same things. He thought the rules applied to everyone equally.”
Declan took a step forward.
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Did Arthur?”
Mercer hesitated.
That hesitation told Declan more than any answer could.
“Where is Arthur?”
“Somewhere you can't reach him.”
Mercer pulled a small envelope from his coat and tossed it onto the desk.
Inside was a photograph of a young woman holding a newborn baby.
On the back was a name.
ELENA KNOX.
Declan had never heard of Elena.
“Who is she?”
Mercer watched his reaction carefully.
“Your father's daughter.”
“My father had no daughter.”
“That's what he wanted you to believe.”
Declan looked at the photograph again.
The baby was wrapped in a hospital blanket dated two months before his father's death.
“Where is she now?”
Mercer stepped backward toward the shadows.
“Ask Victor Sloane.”
A sharp metallic crash sounded above them.
The warehouse lights went out.
Gunfire erupted.
Declan threw himself behind the desk as bullets shattered the office windows.
When the shooting stopped, Mercer was gone.
So was the digital recorder.
But the photograph remained.
May you like
And as Declan stared at the name written on its back, his phone vibrated with a message from Clary.
TOMMY IS MISSING.
Related Stories
