Chapter 6 - The Ghost in the Warehouse
Within an hour,
the grand hall was flooded with forensic teams and investigators,
the wedding flowers being pushed aside for evidence bags.
Odalys was led out in handcuffs,
her designer gown trailing on the wet driveway,
the flashing blue lights reflecting off her tear-stained face.
Weston stayed by Priya's side as the doctor finally arrived to stitch her hand.
"I don't care about the paintings,"
Weston said,
watching as the surgeon worked.
"I care about the ledger."
"There are locations in the back,
Priya."
"Properties my father owned that I never knew about."
One address was a warehouse in the industrial district of South Boston,
a place listed under the name 'Castellan Restoration Services.'
"That's where Marcus was supposed to take the final shipment,"
Wren said,
clutching a cup of tea with shaking hands.
"Silas said if anything went wrong,
the truth would be waiting there."
Weston didn't hesitate;
he grabbed his keys and looked at Priya.
"You don't have to come,
but I think you need to see this."
Priya stood up,
the bandage on her hand a white beacon against her dark skin.
"I've waited three years for this."
They drove through the rain-slicked streets in silence,
the city lights blurring into long streaks of neon.
The warehouse was a hulking mass of rusted corrugated metal,
standing alone on a pier that smelled of salt and decay.
Weston used a heavy bolt cutter to break the lock,
the sound echoing like a gunshot in the empty night.
Inside,
the air was cold and smelled of turpentine and old wood.
Crates were stacked to the ceiling,
each marked with the Castellan crest.
In the center of the room stood a small office,
its glass windows thick with dust.
Weston pushed the door open,
the hinges screaming in protest.
Sitting at the desk was a man,
his hair greyed beyond his years,
his eyes fixed on a small television monitor.
He turned slowly,
his face illuminated by the flickering blue light of the screen.
"Priya?"
he asked,
his voice a raspy whisper.
"Marcus,"
Priya cried,
throwing herself into her brother's arms.
May you like
He wasn't dead,
but he was a prisoner of the secrets he had been paid to keep.
