Chapter 11 - The Ice on the Pier
By seven o'clock that evening, the blizzard had turned Lake Michigan into a roaring, black abyss of violent waves and blowing white sleet.
Pier 31 stretched out three hundred feet into the dark water, its wooden planks coated in an inch of clear glare ice. The industrial cranes and empty shipping containers lined the shore like towering iron skeletons against the storm.
Rachel stood at the mouth of the pier, dressed in a heavy dark parka provided by the Marshals, her hands tucked deep into her pockets. A tiny, invisible wire microphone was taped beneath her collar, broadcasting every breath she took to three tactical vans parked behind the snowbanks two hundred yards away.
"Rachel, do you copy?" Marcus’s voice hummed softly in her ear piece.
"I copy," she whispered, her breath freezing in small white clouds before her face.
"Team A is positioned behind the crane housings. Team B has the exit road blocked. The second she confirms the extortion or the Norfolk fire, say the words 'The ledger is clear.' We will move in instantly."
"Understood," Rachel said.
She began walking down the pier. Her boots crunched softly on the frozen ice. The wind howled off the lake, spraying freezing mist across her face, but she didn't slow down.
At the end of the pier, parked beneath the shadow of an abandoned warehouse crane, sat the silver Audi.
Its headlights clicked on, blinding Rachel with two piercing beams of white light.
The driver's door opened, and Julian Vance stepped out, his hand tucked inside his heavy wool coat. A second later, Evelyn Vance stepped from the rear seat, umbrella in hand, looking at Rachel with an expression of supreme, arrogant triumph.
"You're late, Rachel," Evelyn called out over the roar of the wind.
Rachel stopped ten feet from the front bumper of the car. "The roads are blocked with snow. You knew they would be."
Evelyn walked forward until she was five feet away, her expensive boots slipping slightly on the icy planks before she regained her balance.
"Where are the drives?" Evelyn demanded, holding out a leather-gloved hand.
Rachel pulled a single blue USB drive—a dummy drive loaded with corrupted data—from her pocket, holding it between her gloved fingers.
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"I want your promise first," Rachel said, her voice loud and clear above the gale. "I want your word that you will leave my daughters alone. That you will stop following me. That you will take your money and never speak my husband's name again."
Evelyn threw her head back and laughed—a bitter, echoing sound that was swallowed by the roaring wind.
