Chapter 6 - East Boston at Midnight
By four in the morning, East Boston looked like a city belonging to ghosts.
Fog drifted above the harbor.
Police lights pulsed several blocks from Pier Fourteen.
Damian watched from an SUV parked inside an empty shipping yard.
I sat beside him wearing borrowed black trousers, a sweater from his penthouse staff, and sneakers that were half a size too large.
“You look disappointed,” I said.
He glanced at me.
“Why?”
“No red dress.”
“I preferred you in scrubs.”
I blinked.
“Was that a joke?”
“No.”
“It almost sounded like one.”
Luca opened the passenger door.
“The fire department confirmed nobody was in Julian’s vehicle.”
“Cameras?” Damian asked.
“Disabled.”
“Of course.”
“Another vehicle left six minutes before the explosion.”
“Plate?”
“Stolen.”
Damian stared across the yard.
“This was staged.”
“To make you think Julian’s dead?” I asked.
“Or make someone else think he is.”
That distinction mattered.
A lot.
We entered an unused Cross Shipping office near the pier.
Maps covered one wall.
Damian pointed toward the waterfront.
“Michael died here.”
Warehouse 17.
I stared at the map.
Pier Fourteen was less than half a mile away.
“The company Julian created bought Warehouse 17?”
“Yes.”
“Before Michael died.”
“Yes.”
“And you never knew?”
“Julian used shell companies.”
I folded my arms.
“You own half the waterfront.”
“Apparently I should have owned better accountants.”
The self-directed bitterness in his voice surprised me.
Luca set a tablet on the desk.
“Security pulled archived shipping manifests.”
Damian read silently.
Then his expression changed.
“What?”
He showed me.
Eight years earlier, Michael had rerouted three containers from South Boston to Warehouse 17.
Reason: refrigeration failure.
“What was inside?”
“Pharmaceutical supplies.”
My attention sharpened.
“For Crosswell?”
“No. Crosswell didn’t exist.”
“Then where?”
“A charitable medical shipment bound for Central America.”
I looked at the manifest.
“Who owned it?”
Damian pointed to the donor company.
Harbor Meridian Logistics.
Julian’s company.
“Michael discovered something,” I said.
“That’s what I’m starting to believe.”
Luca’s phone rang.
While he answered, I examined the archived papers.
Nurses spend years noticing inconsistencies.
Medication charts.
Dosage times.
Handwriting.
Symptoms people claim are unrelated.
The shipping manifest bothered me for the same reason.
“Damian.”
He looked over.
“These containers weren’t refrigerated.”
“They were listed as refrigerated.”
“No.”
I showed him the container identification codes.
“Refrigerated medical containers use temperature-monitoring prefixes. These don’t.”
He stared at me.
“How do you know that?”
“My mother worked pharmaceutical distribution for nineteen years.”
I traced the numbers.
“Someone labeled ordinary freight as temperature-sensitive to justify moving it.”
“Why?”
“To isolate it somewhere private.”
Damian looked at Warehouse 17.
His face hardened.
Before he could speak, Luca ended his call.
“We found Nicholas Arden.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Luca glanced at me.
“Crosswell.”
I stood.
“What?”
“He checked himself into the clinic ten minutes ago.”
“That’s impossible. The clinic is closed.”
“He used executive authorization.”
“Whose?”
Luca’s mouth flattened.
“Damian’s.”
Damian was already moving.
We reached Crosswell in fourteen minutes.
Nora met us downstairs.
She looked furious.
“He walked into the lobby holding one of our emergency override cards.”
“Condition?” I asked.
“Stable.”
“Why is he here?”
“He insisted on speaking to Mara.”
Every face turned toward me.
“No.”
Damian’s answer came immediately.
I ignored him.
“Where?”
“Mara.”
“He came voluntarily.”
“No one connected to Mercer does anything voluntarily.”
“Then don’t let me go alone.”
His eyes flashed.
“You think that improves the idea?”
“Yes.”
Nora sighed.
“Room Seven.”
Nicholas Arden sat on the bed with both hands visible.
Older than I remembered.
More tired.
He looked at Damian first.
Then me.
“You remember me.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Damian stood between us.
“You asked for Nurse Ellison. Talk.”
Nicholas smiled faintly.
“You still stand between everyone and the truth, Damian.”
Luca took one step forward.
Nicholas lifted both palms.
“I didn’t come to fight.”
“Then why?”
“Because Mercer knows you found Harbor Meridian.”
The room became silent.
Damian’s voice was flat.
“Where is Julian?”
“Running.”
“From me?”
Nicholas shook his head.
“From Mercer.”
That wasn’t what any of us expected.
Nicholas looked at me.
“The message in Michael’s file wasn’t from Mercer.”
“Who sent it?” I asked.
“I did.”
Damian’s gaze turned lethal.
Nicholas continued quickly.
“Michael found out Mercer had someone inside your family eight years ago.”
“Who?”
“I never knew the name.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to believe Michael.”
Nicholas reached into his jacket slowly.
Luca’s hand moved.
“Easy.”
Nicholas produced a small brass key.
He placed it on the bed.
“Michael gave me this the night he died.”
Damian’s face changed.
“Why would Michael trust you?”
“Because I wasn’t working for Mercer then.”
“Who were you working for?”
Nicholas looked toward me.
“Crosswell.”
“That didn’t exist.”
“The clinic didn’t.”
He looked directly at Damian.
“But the project did.”
Damian stared at him.
Nicholas pushed the key across the mattress.
“Your brother planned Crosswell before you did.”
Damian picked it up.
Stamped into the metal was a single number.
17.
Nicholas leaned back.
“If you want to know who betrayed Michael, open the room he built beneath Warehouse 17.”
Damian’s fingers closed around the key.
“What room?”
Nicholas’s expression became grave.
May you like
“The one Julian has spent eight years making sure you never found.”
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