Chapter 39 - Shadows in the Suburbs
While Raven Hill basked in its newly legitimized corporate stability, not everyone across Ashport was thrilled with the changing landscape.
Deep in the industrial sprawl on the city’s southern fringe, inside a dingy, windowless motel room reeking of stale cigarette smoke and cheap carpet cleaner, a man sat hunched over a flickering laptop screen.
His face was illuminated by the harsh blue light of the monitor, casting deep shadows across a jagged scar running down the left side of his neck. It was David Vance—the man who had supposedly been neutralized in Croatia, but who had managed to buy off a corrupt local coroner to fake his death certificate while slipping across the border on a forged passport.
He stared at the financial news ticker scrolling across the bottom of a local news site:
“CAIN LOGISTICS ANNOUNCES GLOBAL RESTRUCTURING; VANCE-CAIN TRUST RATIFIED IN ZURICH.”
David slammed his fist against the laminate table, rattling the empty coffee cups.
“Damn them!” David hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes burning with maniacal hatred. “They took my ports, they took my money, and they left me rotting in this shithole while they play king and queen in that stone castle!”
He reached for his burner phone, dialed an encrypted, unlisted frequency, and waited through three agonizing rings before a gruff voice answered on the other end.
“Yeah?” the voice grunted.
“It’s me,” David whispered harshly. “The Zurich play failed. The board ratted us out. We need to accelerate Phase Two.”
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“Phase Two is suicide, Vance,” the voice warned over the line. “The Cains have federal protection now. The DOJ, Interpol, and half the municipal judges are in their pocket.”
“They don't have protection against a ghost,” David smiled, a terrifying, unhinged expression twisting his scarred face. “If we can't take the empire from the top down, we take it by burning the foundation to ash. Target the weak point. Target the little girl.”
