Chapter 6 - THE RANSOM
The night of the drop was thick with fog rolling in from the Mediterranean. We chose an abandoned warehouse district near the docks. I sat in my wheelchair in the center of the loading bay, a heavy briefcase resting on my lap. Vargas and our security team were hidden in the shadows, their rifles suppressed and ready.
A pair of black vans screeched into the warehouse. El Alacrán stepped out, flanked by his armed thugs. But he wasn't alone. From the passenger side of the second van, Julian emerged, holding a terrified Sofia by the collar of her torn dress.
"Julian," I said, my voice echoing off the corrugated steel walls. "I wondered if you had the spine to show your face."
"It's nothing personal, Alejandro," Julian shouted, keeping a careful distance. "You became weak. You got obsessed with this beggar. You were going to expose my entire secondary income over a sentimental delusion. Hand over the money, and we walk away."
"And the girl?"
"The girl is a liability," El Alacrán sneered, racking the slide of his pistol. "She knows too much about the operation now. We take the money, and we take care of the problem."
Sofia didn't cry. She looked at me, her large eyes filled with that same unshakeable belief. If you don't believe, I'll believe for you.
"The money is right here," I said, unlatching the briefcase. I flipped it open. It was filled entirely with cut newspaper.
May you like
Julian’s face twisted in rage. "Kill him!" he screamed.
Gunfire erupted.
