Chapter 9
The docks at midnight were a desolate, unforgiving place. The frigid wind whipped off the black water of the harbor, rattling the loose corrugated metal of the massive shipping containers. The area was completely devoid of civilian traffic, the cinematic lighting provided only by the harsh, flickering amber glow of the industrial security lamps.
Orson Voss stood shivering near the edge of Pier 4. The sixty-eight-year-old patriarch looked incredibly small and pathetic without the backdrop of his grand estate. He wore the same button-down shirt from the party, now rumpled and smelling faintly of stale sweat and panic. His expensive shoes were scuffed against the rough concrete.
He constantly checked his watch, his breathing shallow and rapid. He was terrified. He knew that meeting with Don Moretti was incredibly dangerous, but his options had evaporated entirely. He needed money, and he needed Corbin dead.
The sound of heavy, synchronized engines broke the silence of the harbor. Three sleek, black, heavily armored SUVs rolled slowly down the pier, their headlights cutting through the freezing fog. They came to a smooth halt fifty feet away from Orson.
Orson swallowed hard, stepping forward as the doors of the lead vehicle swung open.
But it wasn't Don Moretti who stepped out into the freezing night air.
It was Corbin.
He was dressed flawlessly in a tailored dark suit, exuding an air of absolute, terrifying authority. The handsome, polished executive was gone; this was the apex predator of the city’s underworld. He walked slowly toward his father, his expensive leather shoes making no sound against the concrete.
"Corbin!" Orson gasped, stumbling backward in absolute shock and horror. He looked frantically toward the other vehicles, expecting to see Moretti’s men. "What... what are you doing here? Where is Moretti?"
"Don Moretti isn't coming, Orson," Corbin stated, his voice a low, lethal hum that carried effortlessly over the sound of the freezing wind. "I intercepted your little negotiation. Moretti is currently reconsidering his expansion plans after my men politely suggested he stay in his own territory."
"You... you intercepted him?" Orson stammered, his fair, rosy skin turning a ghghastly shade of pale white. "You can't possibly have that much power."
"I have all the power, Orson," Corbin said, stopping ten feet away from the trembling old man. "You spent thirty years ruling through fear and arrogance, entirely blind to the fact that I was buying up the foundation beneath your feet. You are nothing but a squatter in an empire that I now own."
"I am your father!" Orson shrieked, his voice cracking horribly. "You can't do this to me! I built this family!"
"You destroyed this family," Corbin corrected coldly, his icy eyes completely devoid of mercy. "You taught Tabitha to be a sadistic coward. And you allowed her to torture my daughter because you thought it projected strength. That was your fatal mistake."
"I was just trying to toughen her up!" Orson lied desperately, his hands shaking violently. "It was just a mild punishment, Corbin! You overreacted!"
"And this is just business," Corbin replied smoothly, not raising his voice.
He raised his right hand slightly. The doors of the remaining two SUVs opened simultaneously. A dozen heavily armed, silent men in dark tactical gear stepped out into the amber light, raising their suppressed weapons directly at the terrified patriarch.
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"Corbin, please!" Orson sobbed, dropping to his knees on the freezing concrete, his pride completely shattered. He raised his hands in a pathetic gesture of surrender. "Have mercy! I have nothing left!"
"I haven't taken everything, Orson," Corbin whispered, a dark, devastating finality settling over the pier. "Not yet."
