Chapter 80: Two Million on the Table

In the back of the SUV, the lead guard was biting down on a belt, his lower leg fractured from a single kick. The other 3 sat nursing bruised ribs and dislocated shoulders.

In the Ferrari, Lucas held a handkerchief to his bloody nose, his other hand resting on his lap. Aside from a straight punch and a kick to the groin before the woman took over, his injuries were mostly superficial pain and bruised pride.

"That guy..." Lucas muttered, hitting the steering wheel. "Nobody puts hands on me in this city. If this gets out, I’m done."

Through the lowered window of the Escalade, one of the guards looked over. "Mr. Vanguard... didn’t you just tell him you’d drop it? That woman isn’t standard security. None of us could stay on our feet."

"Shut up," Lucas snapped. "You think I’m hiring you again?"

His phone rang on the dash. It was Vinnie Corso, a local fixer who handled private muscle across the West Side.

"How did it go, Lucas?" Corso asked. "Did the 4 guys handle that instructor?"

Lucas gave a dry laugh. "They didn’t touch him, Vinnie. Your guys were on the pavement in under 2 minutes. A single woman took all 4 down."

Corso paused. "One woman broke Tiny’s leg?"

"If I hadn’t stepped back, she would have done the same to my knees," Lucas said. "You took my deposit, Vinnie. Fix this. I want both of them handled."

Corso went quiet for a few seconds. "Relax, Lucas. If basic muscle doesn’t work against trained private security, we bring in someone else. Master Liu is in town from Macau this week."

Lucas frowned. "Who is that?"

"Traditional hand-to-hand specialist," Corso said. "Fought underground circuits for 20 years. Breaks ribs through padding without leaving a surface mark. Let’s see how well his security handles someone with real technique."

Lucas straightened up. "Get him into Manhattan tonight. Name the price."

Down along the lower West Side waterfront, the 30-acre Hudson Industrial parcel was quiet.

Two weeks earlier, Lawson Capital had acquired the commercial waterfront parcel during a debt auction, putting project director Frank Miller in charge of clearing the site for a new logistics facility.

The Koenigsegg Jesko pulled through the open gate, Sophie Reed stepping out behind Jude. She had insisted on coming along, worried that the trouble at the gate was connected to her.

Jude walked toward the site trailer, taking in the damage.

Frank Miller came out to meet him, an ice pack pressed against his cheek. Behind him, 6 foremen were bandaging cuts, while the rest of the crew stood near the perimeter fence with their tools down.

"What happened, Frank?" Jude asked, looking at the broken gate.

"Raid, Mr. Lawson," Miller said. "An hour ago, 30 guys with rebar and pipe wrenches forced the north gate. Smashed 2 generator panels and pulled operators out of their cabs. Said if we run a single crane today, they’ll put the crew in the hospital."

"Did you call the precinct?"

"Patrol car rolled through 20 minutes later, took a report, and said private disputes aren’t their priority," Miller said. "Now the subcontractors are refusing to work."

"Did they ask for a payoff?" Jude asked.

Miller shook his head. "I offered the lead guy $50,000 cash to let us finish the concrete pour. He laughed and said they weren’t here for money... their job was to shut the site down."

Jude’s expression didn’t change.

Between competing developers and Silas Vanguard’s reaction to the gala, the list of suspects was short.

"They’re coming back," a worker called out from the platform.

Voices echoed across the yard as 30 men in work boots and jackets walked back through the north entrance. Leading them was a man with a scarred cheek, carrying a length of iron rebar over his shoulder.

"Still standing around?" the leader shouted, pointing the bar at the trailer. "Told you this yard is shut. Clear out before we break the rest of the equipment."

The workers stepped back toward the fence.

Jude checked down the access road, but the Ducati hadn’t arrived. He called Anna.

"Anna. They’re back on site. Where are you?"

"My apologies, sir," Anna’s voice came through the line. "A truck clipped my rear fender on 14th Street. Police have the lane blocked for an accident report; I’ll be delayed by at least 30 minutes."

"Handle it and get down here," Jude said, hanging up.

10 blocks north, parked in an empty side alley without a mark on her bike, Anna lowered her phone.

15 minutes earlier, right after Jude had told her to follow him downtown, her private line had buzzed with a direct message from Silas Vanguard: My crew is hitting Lawson’s waterfront site at noon. Since he relies on your security to handle his problems, take a delay and let him stand in the mud alone.

With Ghost’s detail across the river in Brooklyn and Anna holding back, Jude was on site without backup.

Jude buttoned his jacket and walked toward the center of the yard.

"Hold up," Jude called out.

The leader stopped, holding up a hand to pause his group as he looked at Jude in his charcoal suit. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"The owner of the site," Jude said.

The leader grinned. "Jude Lawson. Saves us a trip. Who hired us isn’t your business, but you picked a fight with the wrong people. You’re leaving here on a stretcher."

Jude kept his hands in his pockets. "Whatever they paid you to stop work today, I’ll pay double right now to pack up."

The leader laughed. "Double? Save it. When we take a job, we finish it. We don’t flip on a client."

"Ten times the contract," Jude said, his tone flat.

The laughter stopped. The leader blinked, his grip on the rebar loosening. "Cut the games. We don’t break contracts."

"Twenty times," Jude said.

The leader dropped the rebar into the gravel. He stepped forward, eyes wide, dropping his aggressive posture entirely.

"You’re actually putting up $2 million cash?"

Jude raised an eyebrow.

So Silas Vanguard had paid them $100,000 to raid a multibillion-dollar parcel...

Behind him, Frank Miller, Sophie, and the 40 construction workers watched in silence as the crew leader backed down the moment the numbers were on the table.

Jude had no intention of taking on 30 men armed with rebar by himself. In Manhattan, liquid capital and clear leverage worked considerably faster...

"Two million dollars is on the table," Jude said, looking down at the leader. "On one condition: give me the name of the person who funded this."