Chapter 7 - Confrontation at Warehouse 9
Warehouse 9 loomed against the dark, stormy Atlantic coastline like an iron monster. Rain leaked through the rusted tin roof, splashing loudly onto the cracked concrete floor inside.
I pushed open the heavy rusted side door, stepping into the vast, shadowy cavern. My wet coat dragged behind me, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest.
In the center of the floor, illuminated by a single harsh yellow spotlight, sat Noah. He was tied to a wooden chair with thick zip-ties, his tiny face streaked with tears and dirt, but his eyes lit up the moment he saw me.
"Mommy!" he cried out, his voice trembling.
"I'm right here, baby," I said, keeping my voice soft and steady as I walked out of the shadows. "Mommy's right here. It's okay."
From behind the beam of light stepped Arthur Vance himself—the billionaire CEO of Vance Global Defense. He wore an immaculate bespoke suit, completely unbothered by the damp grime of the warehouse, flanked by two heavily armed mercenaries in tactical vests.
"Remarkable," Vance purred, clapping his gloved hands together in a slow, patronizing rhythm. "Richard's daughter. You have your father's defiance, Clara. I admire that. Hand over the drive, and you and the boy leave here breathing."
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"You killed my father," I said, stopping ten feet away, my right hand buried in my coat pocket, gripping the iron key tightly.
"Your father was a traitor who tried to sabotage a two-billion-dollar government defense contract," Vance sneered. "He thought he could expose our surveillance network to the federal prosecutor. He was foolish. Don't repeat his mistake."
