Chapter 8 - The Interrogation at Dock Seven
The industrial district of the city was a labyrinth of rust, concrete, and deep shadows. Dock Seven was an active shipping hub by day, but at night, it belonged entirely to the Iron Sentinel syndicate. The massive corrugated metal warehouse loomed over the black, freezing waters of the harbor, silent and foreboding.
Our convoy roared through the security gates, the heavy tires crunching over gravel before coming to a sudden, synchronized halt. The operatives fumbled with no wasted motion, securing the perimeter within seconds.
I stepped out into the biting harbor wind, my heavy trench coat snapping around my ankles. Kael and Thorne flanked me as we marched through the sliding metal doors of the warehouse.
Inside, the cavernous space smelled of salt water, diesel, and old iron. In the center of the room, tied securely to a heavy steel chair beneath a harsh overhead halogen lamp, sat Richard Sterling. He was a man accustomed to bespoke suits and corner offices, but right now, he looked pathetic—his shirt collar unbuttoned, his face bruised from a brief, efficient struggle during his pickup.
When the glare of our arrival hit him, Richard squinted frantically, straining against the heavy industrial zip-ties binding his wrists.
"Who the hell are you?" Richard barked, trying to sound authoritative despite the panic bleeding through his voice. "Do you know who my backers are? When my security team gets here—"
I stepped into the pool of light, my expression carved from granite. "Your security team is currently zip-tied in the trunk of a Ford sedan three miles away, Richard. And your backers? They work for me."
Richard’s color drained instantly. He stared at me, his brain desperately trying to reconcile the humble, quiet clockmaker he had heard about from Caroline with the terrifying aura of absolute authority standing before him.
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"Julian...?" Richard whispered, his voice trembling. "You're... you're Vance. The clockmaker."
"I am the architect," I corrected softly, pulling up a steel stool and sitting directly across from him. "And you, Richard, have been playing in a sandbox far deeper than you can possibly swim."
