Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
The silence inside Pier 42 was so absolute you could hear the rain heavy on the metal roof sixty feet above.
Raymond’s three bodyguards slowly raised their hands, dropping their weapons onto the wet concrete with heavy clatters. Raymond remained frozen, his eyes darting frantically from the red laser dots on his chest to Vincent’s calm, slate-gray eyes.
“This isn't your fight, Calder,” Raymond said, trying to force confidence into his cracking voice. “The girl stole federal evidence from my organization. She belongs to Albany.”
“Nothing in this city belongs to Albany,” Vincent answered flatly.
He reached into his inner pocket, pulled out a black leather notebook, and opened it.
“Raymond Fletcher,” Vincent read aloud. “Thirty-seven counts of grand larceny. Direct involvement in the disappearance of three witnesses in upstate court cases. And a personal history of physical assault against women who cannot defend themselves.”
Vincent closed the book with a sharp snap.
“You beat her,” Vincent said softly, taking one slow step toward Raymond. “You broke her bones, threatened her family, and chased her for two years because you were terrified she’d reveal what a small, pathetic coward you truly are.”
“She’s my wife!” Raymond lied desperately.
“She was your victim,” Vincent corrected. “And last night, one of your low-level rats hit her in my diner.”
Raymond blinked, genuinely confused. “What? Who?”
“Derek Lawson,” Vincent said. “He thought he could strike a woman under my protection and walk away with a payday. I don't tolerate violence inside my establishment, Raymond. And I certainly do not tolerate trash from Albany trying to clear their debts on my streets.”
Vincent gestured slightly with his hand.
From the shadows behind the crates, Paul stepped forward dragging a battered, sobbing Derek Lawson. Derek’s hands were zip-tied behind his back, his face bruised and swollen.
“Tell him, Derek,” Vincent ordered softly.
Derek dropped to his knees on the concrete, weeping hysterically. “I’m sorry! Raymond paid me! He gave me five grand just to locate her!”
Raymond spat on the ground near Derek’s feet. “Useless worm.”
Vincent turned back to Raymond, his voice dropping into that terrifying, icy register that held no human warmth.
“You have two choices tonight, Raymond,” Vincent said. “Option one: my men put four holes in your chest, wrap you in heavy iron chains, and drop you off the end of Pier 42 into thirty feet of salt water.”
Raymond swallowed hard, his skin pale and glistening with sweat. “What’s option two?”
Vincent pulled a sleek, silver flash drive from his pocket and held it up between two fingers.
“Option two: you take this copy of your decrypted ledgers, walk directly into the Federal Building on Cadman Plaza tomorrow morning at eight o'clock, and confess to every crime you’ve committed over the last seven years.”
Raymond stared at the drive, horrified. “If I turn myself in, Callahan will have me killed in prison within a week!”
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Vincent stepped right up to Raymond, leaning in until his face was inches from the former cop’s ear.
“Then I suggest you choose a high-security federal facility,” Vincent whispered. “Because if you step out of line, option one remains on the table forever.”
