Chapter 10 - THE SHADOW IN THE PORT.txt
Over the next two weeks, Mercer Shipping became a war zone of corporate intelligence.
Graham refused to sit back and wait for the mysterious third party to make another move. He hired an elite private security firm consisting of former Navy SEALs and federal intelligence officers, embedding them discreetly within Mercer Shipping’s port operations.
If Natalie Vale’s network was operating in Charleston, they needed money, logistics, and local cover. And in Charleston, everything valuable moved through the port.
Graham sat in his corner office overlooking the harbor, monitoring a live digital map of incoming container ships. Julian walked in, dropping a thick file onto the desk.
"We ran a deep audit on every middle-manager hired across our three shipping terminals over the last eighteen months," Julian said, his face pale. "The period when you first started dating 'Juliette'."
"Find anything?" Graham asked without taking his eyes off the screen.
"A shift supervisor named Marcus Vance at Terminal Four," Julian pointed to a photograph on the top page. "No relation to me, thankfully. He was hired fourteen months ago on a glowing recommendation from an offshore logistics firm based in the Cayman Islands—one of the shell companies tied to Victoria Vale."
Graham’s eyes narrowed. "What has he been doing?"
"He’s been altering manifest logs for high-priority luxury containers arriving from Europe," Julian explained. "Allowing specific uninspected crates to pass through the private Mercer terminals without border patrol sweeps. He’s the bridge between Natalie’s syndicate and local organized crime."
"Where is he right now?"
"He’s on shift at Terminal Four," Julian replied. "Night watch started an hour ago."
Graham stood up, grabbing his heavy coat from the rack. "Call Miller. Tell him we’re going to the port."
"Graham, wait," Julian urged, stepping in front of the door. "Let the police handle the arrest at his home tomorrow morning. Going down to the docks at night is dangerous."
"Marcus Vance is the guy who put that phone on my wall, Julian," Graham said, his voice cold as steel. "He knows who holds the escrow money for the hit contract. I'm not waiting for him to slip away on a cargo ship."
Ten minutes later, Graham’s black SUV pulled up to the perimeter gate of Terminal Four. The night was pitch black, a thick sea fog rolling off the dark waters of the harbor, shrouding the massive shipping cranes in ghost-like shadows.
Kane sat in the back seat, his body tense, his ears erect, sensing the sharp shift in his owner’s posture.
Graham stepped out into the damp, salty air, holding Kane’s leather leash firmly. Detective Miller’s unmarked cruiser pulled up right behind him, followed by two tactical police vans.
"We have the perimeter sealed, Graham," Miller said, drawing his weapon and motioning for his tactical squad to move up behind the towering stacks of steel shipping containers. "You stay near the vehicles."
"I'm coming with you," Graham said quietly. "Kane knows his scent from the burner phone."
Miller hesitated, looking at the massive black Doberman standing quietly at Graham’s side. He knew the dog was better at clearing a blind container maze than six armed officers with flashlights.
"Keep him on a short leash," Miller ordered. "And stay behind my vest."
They moved silently into the maze of multi-colored steel containers. The air was heavy with the smell of diesel, rust, and salt water. High above, the giant gantry cranes creaked in the wind, sounding like groaning metal beasts.
Kane moved forward, his nose working frantically in the cold fog. Suddenly, the dog stopped dead in his tracks near a junction of four stacked containers. His body locked up, a low, silent vibration rumbling deep within his chest.
May you like
Graham raised his hand, signaling the tactical officers behind them to hold their positions.
From behind a rusted red container thirty yards ahead, the distinct sound of a metal crate door latching shut echoed through the foggy night.
