Chapter 7 - THE GHOST OF THE DETROIT RIVER
The temperature inside the concrete parking structure seemed to plummet even lower as the name Callaway hung in the cold, exhaust-filled air. Rue looked directly into Harlan Voss's dark, piercing eyes, refusing to back down from the overwhelming presence of the man kneeling inches away from her.
"My father was Arthur Callaway," Rue said, her voice dropping into a quiet, somber tone that carried years of buried pain. "He worked the freighter docks at the Port of Detroit for twenty-two years. Until he was killed."
Harlan did not move a single muscle. His large, broad hands rested flat on his knees, his dark eyes never leaving Rue's face.
Behind him, Viktor took another slow step forward, his hand remaining on his holstered weapon, his grey head bowed slightly as if paying respects to a ghost from a violent past that everyone in the Voss organization had sworn never to speak of again.
"Arthur Callaway..." Harlan repeated, his gravelly voice barely louder than a whisper. "The chief union steward of Pier 19."
"You know his name," Rue stated, her hazel eyes narrowing with sudden, sharp suspicion. "Everyone in your world knows his name. He was the man who refused to sell out the dockworkers' union to the syndicate. And one night, fifty men went into that warehouse, and only a pile of ash came out."
"Rue..." Harlan began, his tone surprisingly gentle, devoid of his usual commanding harshness.
"Don't," Rue interrupted, standing up off the cold floor with a fluid, determined motion, pulling her cheap coat around her shoulders. "I don't need your charity, Mr. Voss, and I don't care about your world. I saw a little girl who was freezing to death, and I stayed with her because she was a human being. That's all this was."
She turned to grab her shoulder bag from the concrete floor, preparing to walk away into the cold Detroit night, back toward her lonely walk home.
"Stop her," Harlan ordered quietly, without turning his head.
Instantly, two large security guards stepped into the walkway, blocking Rue's path with their massive frames. They didn't touch her, but their presence formed an impassable wall of dark wool and tailored suits.
Rue spun around, her hazel eyes flaring with anger as she glared at Harlan. "Let me go! I didn't do anything wrong!"
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Harlan stood up slowly, reaching his full six-foot-two height. He walked toward her until he was standing just two feet away, looking down at her with a heavy, unreadable intensity.
"You saved my daughter's life tonight, Rue Callaway," Harlan said, his voice deep, resonance vibrating off the concrete ceiling. "And Arthur Callaway was a man I owed a debt to—a debt that was paid in blood before I was old enough to stop it. You are not walking home five miles in the dark through this city. Not tonight. Not ever again."
