Chapter 27 - Trapped at the Edge of the Water
"Well, well, well," a familiar, cold voice echoed from the doorway of Office 3.
I spun around, shielding my eyes against the glare of multiple tactical flashlights. Standing in the doorway were three men in dark suits, led by the impeccably groomed man from the storage unit. In his hand, he held a sleek, suppressed pistol aimed directly at my chest.
"I told you, Ethan, that you were playing a very dangerous game," the man said, stepping into the room while his associates fanned out to block both exits. "And yet, you just couldn't resist digging up ghosts that were better left buried."
Olivia instinctively stepped back, shielding the steel lockbox with her body. I moved in front of her, my heart pounding furiously against my ribs.
"You're too late," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Copies of everything in this box have already been uploaded to a secure server timed to release to the Department of Justice if I don't check in by sunrise."
The man paused, his expression narrowing as he studied my face, trying to determine if I was bluffing.
"A clever bluff, Ethan," he replied smoothly, taking another step forward. "Except for one small detail: there is no cellular reception in this harbor district. Your phone has been operating on a localized signal jammer since the moment you crossed the bridge. Nothing has left this pier."
A cold spike of adrenaline shot through my veins. He was right. I pulled my phone out of my pocket—the screen displayed a persistent *No Service* warning.
"Hand over the box," the man commanded, raising the pistol just a fraction higher. "And perhaps we can discuss a quiet exit for you and your wife. After all, we wouldn't want little Leo growing up as an orphan, would we?"
The mention of our son pushed every protective instinct I possessed past the breaking point. I looked around the room frantically. There was no back door. The only exit was blocked by armed men. The drop off the edge of the pier into the dark, freezing water below was at least twenty feet.
"Don't do it, Ethan," Olivia whispered, grabbing my sleeve. "Look at the window behind them."
I glanced back. The small, grimy window on the side wall looked out over a narrow catwalk attached to the exterior pilings of the pier—a narrow strip of metal that led directly down to a small maintenance skiff tied to the pylons below.
It was a suicidal long shot. But it was our only chance.
"On my mark," I murmured to Olivia.
"What are you—"
"Now!"
I grabbed the heavy wooden desk and shoved it with all my might directly toward the approaching men. The desk crashed into the lead assailant, knocking him off balance and sending his flashlight clattering across the floor.
"Get them!" the leader shouted, firing a shot that shattered the window above our heads in a shower of glass.
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I grabbed Olivia’s hand, vaulted over the shattered window frame, and threw ourselves onto the narrow exterior catwalk just as a second bullet pinged off the metal railing inches from my ear.
***
