Chapter 1 - Four Words at the Dinner Table
Lana Beckett was pouring water when Klaus whispered, “Kill Marlow tomorrow night.”
Victor Marlow looked up and saw the silver pitcher shaking in her hand.
A tiny engraving beneath its handle read: H-17.
Lana suddenly knew this dinner was never about a business deal.
“He’s lying to you.”
Four words.
Lana had spoken them so quietly that, for one impossible second, she wondered whether Victor Marlow had heard her.
He had.
The silver water pitcher remained suspended above his glass.
Victor did not blink.
Across the table, Gavin Hale smiled too quickly.
“He says tomorrow will begin a prosperous partnership,” Gavin translated.
But those were not the words Klaus Reinhardt had spoken.
Not even close.
Lana lowered the pitcher.
Victor turned his head by degrees until his dark eyes settled on her.
“What did you say?”
Lana could hear her own pulse.
“Your translator is lying, Mr. Marlow.”
Gavin’s face changed.
It was tiny. A tightening around the mouth. A flash of panic behind his glasses.
“She’s confused,” he said. “She’s just a waitress.”
Klaus said something in German.
Lana understood every word.
If the girl understood us, she leaves in the same vehicle as the others.
Victor watched Lana instead of Klaus.
“What did he say?”
Gavin started speaking.
Lana beat him to it.
“He said if I understood him, I leave in the same vehicle as the others.”
Victor’s fingers stopped beside his wineglass.
“What others?”
Lana swallowed.
“The bodies from tomorrow night.”
Leo Mercer’s chair moved first.
The scrape of wood against polished flooring cut through the private dining room.
Klaus’s two guards reached beneath their jackets.
Leo’s pistol appeared almost casually in his hand.
“Don’t.”
One guard froze.
The other stared at Victor.
Victor had not reached for his own weapon.
He did not need to.
“Sit down.”
Klaus barked an order.
His guards obeyed.
Gavin did not.
He stood so abruptly his water glass overturned.
“Victor, please.”
“Sit.”
Gavin sat.
Lana had worked at the Hawthorne Grill for five years. She had served politicians, athletes, billionaires, married men with girlfriends, girlfriends with other boyfriends, and criminals who tipped better than bankers.
She had learned that powerful people rarely whispered because they were afraid of being heard.
They whispered because they assumed nobody around them mattered.
Tonight, that assumption had nearly killed Victor Marlow.
Victor leaned back.
“Start at the beginning.”
Lana looked toward the door.
One of Victor’s men stood there now.
No escape.
Maybe that was good.
If Klaus’s threat was real, the hallway was hardly safer.
“When you said the south docks belonged to you,” Lana said, “Gavin told Mr. Reinhardt you were desperate to negotiate.”
Victor’s eyes moved toward Gavin.
Lana continued.
“He told him you would open the gates tomorrow night for an inspection.”
“And Reinhardt?”
“He said his men would enter as inspectors. Once inside, they would kill your night crew.”
Leo’s expression darkened.
Victor remained almost unnaturally still.
“The toast?”
Lana hesitated.
“What did he actually say?”
“He called you weak.”
Klaus stared at her.
“He said that by midnight tomorrow, the docks would belong to him.”
Victor waited.
Lana wished he would stop doing that.
His silence made dishonesty impossible.
“There was more.”
“What?”
“He said he would keep your head as a trophy.”
Leo gave a humorless laugh.
Klaus exploded in German.
Gavin flinched.
Victor merely turned.
“English.”
Klaus stared at him.
“I think this meeting is over.”
“No,” Victor said. “Now it begins.”
Then he looked at Gavin.
“Why?”
Gavin’s composure broke.
“They have Sarah.”
Victor’s expression shifted for the first time.
“Your wife?”
Gavin nodded.
“They took her two days ago. They sent photographs. She was tied to a chair.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were going to send me into an ambush.”
“They said they’d cut off her fingers.”
Gavin’s voice cracked.
“I had no choice.”
Victor leaned forward.
“Everyone has a choice.”
Lana saw something complicated pass through Victor’s eyes.
Anger, certainly.
But not only anger.
He understood fear.
That frightened her almost as much as his reputation.
Victor turned back to her.
“What were the instructions for tomorrow?”
“Klaus told Gavin you had to arrive at Warehouse Seventeen at eleven forty-five. Your security team would be separated at the gate. A truck would block the east exit.”
Leo frowned.
“Warehouse Seventeen has been closed for twelve years.”
Lana looked down at the pitcher.
H-17.
Her stomach tightened.
“What?” Victor asked.
She turned the handle toward him.
The engraving was small enough that she had never noticed it before.
H-17.
Victor touched the letters.
“Hawthorne property mark?”
Lana shook her head.
“Our inventory codes don't look like that.”
Klaus suddenly stood.
Leo raised the pistol.
“Sit down.”
Klaus ignored him.
“You have no idea what you are interfering with.”
This time he spoke English.
Victor’s gaze sharpened.
“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said tonight.”
Klaus smiled.
“You think this is about docks?”
Victor said nothing.
“You think I came here because I want three warehouses?”
Klaus leaned forward.
“You were dead before I entered this restaurant.”
Leo moved.
Victor lifted one finger.
Leo stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Klaus smiled wider.
“Ask your waitress.”
Lana stared at him.
“I’ve never met you.”
“No.”
Klaus’s pale eyes dropped toward the pitcher.
“But somebody expected you to be here.”
Lana felt cold.
Victor noticed.
Before anyone could speak, a vibration came from beneath the table.
Gavin’s phone.
He stared at it.
“Pick it up,” Victor said.
Gavin did.
A photograph filled the screen.
His face drained of color.
Victor held out his hand.
Gavin did not move.
“Give me the phone.”
Slowly, Gavin obeyed.
Victor studied the photograph.
Lana saw his jaw tighten.
Then he placed the phone on the table.
A woman sat tied to a chair inside a concrete room.
Sarah Hale.
Behind her was a steel door.
Painted across it in faded white characters were two symbols.
H-17.
Lana stared at the photograph.
“That’s the same mark.”
Victor enlarged the image.
Leo leaned closer.
“There’s someone behind her.”
A blurred reflection appeared in a sheet of metal.
A man in a dark suit.
Victor zoomed again.
His face went completely still.
Leo saw it too.
“No.”
Lana looked between them.
“Who is he?”
Victor did not answer.
The phone vibrated again.
A message appeared beneath Sarah’s photograph.
BRING MARLOW TOMORROW. NO POLICE. NO CHANGES.
Then another line appeared.
AND BRING THE WAITRESS.
Lana’s breath caught.
She had never met Sarah.
She had never seen Warehouse Seventeen.
Yet someone had known she would be serving this room.
Victor looked at her.
“Who scheduled you tonight?”
“My manager.”
“Name.”
“Daniel Cross.”
Leo was already dialing.
Nobody answered.
Lana remembered something.
Daniel had changed her shift that afternoon.
She had originally been assigned to the main dining room.
At 4:17, he had appeared beside the employee lockers.
Private room tonight, Lana.
Why me?
German guests. You lived in Berlin, right?
At the time, she had thought he was being thoughtful.
Now she understood.
“He knew.”
Victor rose.
“Who?”
“My manager. He specifically asked whether I still spoke German.”
Leo lowered his phone.
“Cross isn't answering.”
Victor looked toward the door.
“Find him.”
One of his men disappeared into the hallway.
Klaus laughed softly.
Victor faced him.
“You find something funny?”
“You’re still thinking tomorrow is the trap.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
Klaus glanced at the chandelier.
“No, Marlow.”
His smile vanished.
“The trap was getting you into this room tonight.”
Every light in the private dining room went out.
Someone screamed.
May you like
A gunshot shattered the darkness.
And from behind Lana, a locked service door slowly began to open...
