CHAPTER 323: SPARE THEIR LIVES (9)

Benjamin’s voice cut through the chaos, taut and stripped bare. "Who took my son?" he demanded of Sarah.

Sarah’s answer came out in a ragged rush. "The police. The task force handling Nancy’s case says she confessed before she escaped—so they’ve moved to arrest Raymond and Reagan."

Benjamin closed his eyes for a beat, the room’s noise falling away. He turned to Vicky, every line in his face hard as flint. "Call your brother’s lawyer. And mine. Tell them to go straight to the station—get Reagan the help he needs."

Sarah’s panic flared. "But—"

Benjamin’s tone softened in the way only years of command could shape. "Sarah, I’m sorry. But Reagan put himself in this. He must face it like a man. Be with him. Now isn’t the time." He stepped past her, the decision already made in the set of his shoulders. "Georgia and Katie are the priority."

The words landed like an order. Sarah opened her mouth again, but the fury in Nick’s eyes stopped her before she could speak.

Oliver and Liam fell in step behind Nick and Benjamin as the group moved toward the elevator. The doors hissed shut, enclosing them, and Nick’s question came out, low and urgent. "Dad, what’s going on?"

Benjamin let out a long, weary breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Reagan made mistakes, bad ones, and now he must pay the price. Oliver will explain the details. As a father, it cuts me to tell you this, Nick. But right now, our focus is on finding Georgia and Katie."

Nick said nothing, but his silence was a living thing: a tightened jaw, fists clenched until knuckles blanched. Every plan narrowed to raw, hot lines of anger and fear.

In the private furnace of his mind, a single vow burned bright and terrible: if Reagan—or anyone—had a hand in Georgia and Katie’s disappearance, Nick would make them pay. The thought arrived like a promise of violence barely tamed by the public calm he wore.

Liam’s voice was a clipped order the moment the elevator spat them into the basement. "I’ll take Dad, you take Nick. Let’s meet at the port."

They split like a trained unit, security team following behind them in practiced formation.

Nick stayed silent until he and Oliver were sealed in the car. "What’s going on, Ollie?" he asked, buckling his seatbelt without looking away from the rearview.

Oliver’s jaw tightened. "I don’t have the full story yet. But the police told us something last night. Nancy confessed before she escaped. She said Raymond and Reagan knew who killed David. They didn’t have a hand in it, but they lied under oath during your trial. That makes them criminally liable."

The words landed like a fist in Nick’s gut. "What? Why didn’t you tell me right away?"

"I wanted to," Oliver said. "Your father spoke to Reagan as soon as he found out. Reagan said he’d face the consequences. He’ll cooperate with the police when it happens. I planned to tell you, but then Georgia and Katie were taken. I didn’t want to pile on when you were already dealing with this." His voice was steady but thin; the strain showed in the way he gripped the wheel.

Nick let the silence hang for a heartbeat, then exhaled, a harsh, measured sound. "You’re right. That case can wait."

Oliver’s foot found the accelerator, and the car surged forward. In the windows, the city blurred—each streetlight a staccato promise of movement toward the port, toward answers, and toward a violence Nick felt coiled under his skin, ready to strike.

They reached the port to a flurry of faces, men Nick, Liam, and Benjamin had summoned on the drive. The port smelled of diesel and salt; floodlights carved harsh pools of light across stacked containers and bobbing hulls.

The veteran mariners, port eyes, a few trusted contacts, clustered as Nick and the group stepped down from the car. Steven, Nick’s former chief mate, moved forward with a tablet in hand, eyes already running through manifests.

"I checked the ship," Steven said without preamble. "No helipad. A helicopter insertion is not an option. Even if someone fast-roped in, there’s no telling if the crew are armed. They could open fire before we reach the bridge."

Benjamin’s answer was immediate. "Then we use coastguard vessels."

Liam shook his head. "Not if we want surprise. The coastguard shows up on every system GPS, AIS. The moment they’re on the water, the ship will know we’re coming."

A low hum of uncertainty ran through the group. Nick stepped forward. When he spoke, everyone listened to him.

"You know what we can use?" he asked, and his voice carried easy confidence that snagged attention.

"What?" Benjamin demanded.

Nick’s smile was dangerous and calm. "Pirates."

A ripple of disbelief and a few hard glances met him. Steven barked a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. "You know modern nav systems—anything like that would still be detected. It’s reckless."

"That’s the point," Nick said. He flicked his gaze from face to face, measuring. "We don’t want detection. We want chaos. If someone creates a scramble, real or staged, every head on that ship will be on the bridge and deck where they can see the pirates.

Their systems get fiddled with, the crew’s attention splintered. While they’re fighting, we board quietly. We get in, find Georgia and Katie, get out. Fast and efficient. We’ll be back in the port before the coast guards even arrive."

Murmurs ran through the team—uneasy, pragmatic. Liam folded his arms. "You’re talking about unleashing violence. If someone gets hurt—"

"If someone gets hurt," Nick cut in, his voice cold as the harbor, "it won’t be because we stood on the quay and waited for permission." He tilted his chin. "We’ll control the variables. I know a man—he runs a small outfit, experienced, cunning. He owes me a favor. He makes noise, fake boarding, no casualties if we do it right. Their priority becomes survival, not running scans."

Oliver glanced at Benjamin and back at Nick, weighing the risk against the clock.

Benjamin’s jaw tightened. "This is dangerous, reckless, and illegal," he said. "But time isn’t giving us choices."

Nick’s gaze hardened into a single focus. "We don’t have time for caution. We have to move now—clean, precise, and fast. Distraction first. Get on board second. Find them before they slip through our fingers."

*******

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