Chapter 6
The security command center was hidden deep beneath the mansion, providing a stark, utilitarian contrast to the luminous, airy elegance of the dining hall above. Down here, the walls were lined with glowing surveillance monitors, massive servers hummed with raw electricity, and the air smelled heavily of ozone and hot wiring.
Daisy walked quietly behind Evander, her sophisticated black dress swishing softly against the cold concrete floor. She deeply felt the heavy, suspicious stares of the cartel’s tech operatives as they entered, but no one dared speak out of turn to the boss.
Evander stepped up to the main console, resting his hands heavily on the edge of the metal desk. The refined artistic tattoos across his fingers stood out starkly against the illuminated control panel.
"Have you locked onto the analog signal?" Evander asked the lead technician, a thin, sweating man wearing a heavy headset.
"Yes, Mr. Cole. The trace is running," the technician replied frantically, his fingers flying across an illuminated keyboard. "Graham is bouncing the transmission off three different cell towers along the coast. It’s a highly sophisticated relay, but we are rapidly narrowing down the triangulation."
Evander looked at the digital map glowing on the central screen. Red blips flickered along the dark outline of the city's southern shoreline.
"Why is he keeping my son so close to the water?" Evander asked. The question was directed at the room, though no one had the courage to answer him. It was a cruel, twisted irony. The boy everyone believed was swallowed by the sea was being held hostage on its very shores.
Evander slowly turned his attention back to Daisy, who was standing quietly near the reinforced steel door. "Daisy, when Marceline threatened to dismiss you earlier, what were her exact words?"
Daisy thought carefully, her expressive brows drawing together as she recalled the venomous interaction. "She said, 'Get out of this room before I have you thrown out. You have no idea what is arriving by boat tonight, and you are ruining the timeline.'"
Evander’s cold eyes darkened considerably. "Did she specify the boat, Daisy?"
"No, sir. She only said 'arriving by boat.' But she checked her wristwatch immediately after she said it. It was exactly seven o'clock."
Evander looked back at the lead technician. "Can you cross-reference incoming private vessels at the southern docks that were scheduled to dock precisely at seven o'clock?"
The technician nodded furiously, typing a complex new set of commands. Lines of raw data cascaded across the screen. "Filtering maritime logs now, sir. There’s a private yacht, the Marina’s Grace, registered to a shell corporation we know is closely associated with Graham’s mercenary outfit. It docked at pier four at exactly 19:00 hours."
"Is my son on that boat?" Evander asked, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that shook the room.
"The thermal imaging from our dockside cameras shows three distinct heat signatures in the lower cabin, sir. One of them is distinctly smaller than the others. It perfectly matches the mass of a young child."
Evander stared intensely at the screen, the reflection of the digital map glowing in his cold, perceptive eyes. A year of agonizing mourning, a year of walking past an empty bedroom, was unraveling right in front of him.
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"Will you ready the tactical teams?" Evander asked his security chief, who stood waiting eagerly in the shadows.
"Already done, boss. We leave on your word."
