Chapter 5 - The First Gunshots Before the Wedding Bells

Damian did not run back into the ballroom.

Running made people panic. Panic made witnesses notice details. He walked fast instead, one hand already inside his jacket, phone pressed to his ear as Marcus shouted over automatic fire.

“How many?” Damian asked.

“Eight, maybe ten. Two vans. They came through the east gate with Ashworth markings.”

“Real markings?”

“Real enough to get past the first checkpoint.”

“Casualties?”

“Two wounded. No dead yet.”

“Hold position. Don’t pursue past the river road.”

Marcus swore. “They’re retreating.”

“That is why you don’t pursue.”

Damian ended the call and looked at Vivienne.

She stood beside the linen-room door, still holding the flash drive.

“My father did not order that,” she said.

“You sound certain.”

“I know how he operates.”

“So do I.”

“No, you know how he wants rivals to think he operates.”

Damian studied her for one cold second.

“Come with me.”

“To the dock?”

“To somewhere you can prove you’re useful.”

They took a service elevator down to the garage. Gregory appeared before the doors closed.

“Damian.”

His breathing was controlled, but he had moved quickly enough to flush his face.

“What happened?”

“Pier Eleven was hit.”

“By whom?”

“Men wearing Ashworth colors.”

Gregory’s eyes shifted to Vivienne.

She folded her arms. “Don’t look at me. I was standing beside him.”

Gregory stepped into the elevator.

“I’m coming.”

“No,” Damian said.

Gregory blinked.

“I need you here. Lock down the hotel. Nobody leaves without being logged.”

For the first time, irritation cracked Gregory’s composure.

“You need me at the dock.”

“I need you where I told you.”

The doors closed.

Vivienne watched Damian in the mirrored wall.

“You are testing him.”

“Yes.”

“And me.”

“Yes.”

“Charming foundation for a marriage.”

“The foundation was already rotten.”

She looked away.

In the garage, Damian took the keys from a security driver and drove himself. Vivienne sat beside him, the flash drive in her fist.

“You knew nothing about the attack?” he asked.

“No.”

“Nothing about Elena?”

A pause.

“I knew she was asking questions.”

“What kind?”

“About Harrow Freight.”

Damian’s grip tightened on the wheel.

“How?”

“She requested archived port manifests from one of our subsidiaries. My finance director flagged it because the files were old. I told him to give them to her.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to know what she was looking for.”

“And?”

“I found Theo Marsh.”

Damian looked at her sharply.

“You knew he was her brother?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell your father?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Vivienne stared through the windshield at the wet streets.

“Because by then I had started wondering whether my father was the reason those files frightened people.”

Pier Eleven looked like a war zone when they arrived.

A forklift burned near the loading cranes. Glass glittered across the pavement. Cross guards had taken cover behind stacked pallets. Two men lay on stretchers inside a warehouse office while Sato’s assistants worked on them.

Marcus met Damian at the gate.

“Attackers used armor-piercing rounds and knew the camera blind spots.”

“Bodies?”

“One.”

They crossed to a tarp-covered corpse. Marcus pulled it back.

The dead man wore a black tactical jacket with a silver Ashworth crest stitched into the shoulder.

Vivienne crouched.

“That patch is wrong.”

Damian looked at her.

“Our crews use woven silver thread around the border. This is machine-printed gray.”

Marcus peeled the patch loose with a knife.

Underneath it, the jacket bore a laundry stamp.

G.V. SECURITY SERVICES.

Gregory Vale’s private contracting company.

Nobody spoke.

Damian searched the dead man’s pockets. Burner phone. Spare magazine. Cheap watch. A folded photograph.

He opened it.

It showed Damian entering the Ashworth Hotel two hours earlier.

On the back was a handwritten instruction:

KEEP CROSS AT THE HOTEL UNTIL 21:00.

Vivienne’s voice went flat. “This was staged.”

“Yes.”

“To make you think my father started the war.”

“Yes.”

Marcus frowned. “Why?”

Damian looked toward the river.

“Because if Cross attacks Ashworth first, whoever planned the wedding takeover gets the chaos they need.”

His phone vibrated.

A message came from Gregory.

HOTEL SECURE. ASHWORTH MEN RESTLESS. ADVISE WE STRIKE BEFORE THEY DO.

Damian read it twice, then typed back.

HOLD POSITION. I’M RETURNING.

He slipped the phone away.

Vivienne stood.

“Are you going to arrest him?”

“We don’t have arrests.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because if Gregory is the center of this, he is not working alone. I want the whole structure.”

Marcus nodded slowly.

Damian turned to Vivienne.

“Give me the drive.”

She hesitated.

“If I do, what happens to me?”

“That depends on what’s on it.”

“Very romantic.”

“The wedding is no longer romantic.”

“It never was.”

She placed the drive in his palm.

As Damian closed his fingers around it, an explosion rolled across the water.

Everyone turned.

A plume of fire rose from the direction of Pier Fourteen.

Marcus swore.

“That’s our fuel depot.”

Damian’s phone rang again.

This time it was Elena.

He answered.

Her first words were not a greeting.

“Damian, get away from the docks. The attack is bait.”

His gaze moved to the burning horizon.

“What are they baiting me for?”

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A pause.

Then Elena said, “Someone just accessed the clinic’s location file.”