Chapter 23
LUKE
The printer on the shelf behind Dad's desk is older than most of the boats in the marina, but it still works. I've been feeding it paper for the last twenty minutes, printing every email Rico's sent me over the past two weeks, and the stack on my desk is growing.
Shipping manifests for Dorsey's freight company show cargo routed through ports in Panama, Colombia, and Ecuador.
Corporate filings for three shell companies all trace back to the same holding group registered in the Cayman Islands.
A photo Rico pulled from a customs database shows The Cut Bait docked in Balboa, Panama, eight months before Dorsey ever set foot in Bandon.
Financial transfers between Dorsey's personal accounts and offshore entities don't match any legitimate vendor payments.
All of it is proof of something, but what isn't truly definitive without knowing what's in those crates. I'm sure Rico can work his magic and do some more digging, but I'm printing every single scrap and holding onto it.
Rico's last email came in at four this morning.
He confirmed that the freight outfit tied to Dorsey's shell company is flagged by ATF as a known logistics network for weapons trafficking along the Pacific Corridor.
They move arms through small coastal towns using exactly the kind of setup Dorsey's built here.
By the time anyone notices something is off, the weapons have already moved through and the operation relocates to the next town.
The festival is three weeks out. If Dorsey's running on that timeline, the big shipments are coming soon, mixed in with the legitimate deliveries for the stages and vendor tents Hannah approved.
Once the festival kicks off and the town floods with visitors, moving product through Bandon becomes even easier—more trucks, more foot traffic, more noise. It's the perfect cover.
I pull the last page from the printer and add it to the stack. Then I open the desk drawer and take out a manila folder and put everything inside. I write the date on the tab and set it next to the photos I took of the shipping labels on Dorsey's crates two weeks ago.
This is enough to take to the authorities.
Rico thinks so too, but I want Hannah to see it first. She's the event chair and her name is on every permit application Dorsey filed.
If the Feds come in and start pulling apart the festival, Hannah's the one left standing there trying to explain how she didn't know.
I owe her the chance to understand what she's involved in before it blows up, and the chance to get ahead of it.
I tuck the folder under my arm and lock the office behind me. The plan is simple. Find Hannah, show her what Rico dug up, and figure out together how to bring this to someone who can act on it. But when I step onto the pier and look toward the east storage area, the plan changes.
Dorsey's on the dock, standing next to a fresh stack of crates with two of his crew, directing them as they wheel a dolly loaded with a long wooden container down the gangway from his boat.
He's got his sleeves rolled to his elbows, which is the most casual I've ever seen him, and he's pointing and barking orders while the crew moves together like a well-oiled machine. They’ve done this before, and by the looks of it, plenty of times.
I put the folder back into my office, locking it in the desk drawer, and then walk back out with every intention of making this weasel feel uncomfortable.
He sees me coming and waves his crew off. They disappear back onto the boat without a word, and Dorsey turns to face me with his hands in his pockets and that wide smile already in place.
"Mr. Maddox, good morning. Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"For what?" I stop about six feet from him and cross my arms. I'd like to punch him, but tucking my hands in my armpits stops the urges. In all my years of training, never have I ever wanted so badly to act on impulse instead of discipline.
"For work. Always work to be done, am I right?" He gestures at the crates behind him. "Festival prep never stops."
"That's a lot of festival prep." I look past him at the new crates. They’re the same heavy-gauge hardware and industrial tarps. "What's in these ones?" I nod at them, not even thinking for a second that he'll be honest with me. The man does nothing but lie.
"Sound equipment, I believe. Maybe some of the vendor booth framing.
I'd have to check the manifest." He waves his hand like the details are beneath him.
"My logistics team handles the specifics.
" I can't resist. My adrenaline is pumping so hard, I have to grit my teeth, but some words spill out and I don't feel bad as I watch his reaction.
"Your logistics team in Panama?"
His smile holds but his eyes go flat for just a second before the warmth floods back in. "I source materials from wherever the best price is, Luke. That's just good business. You know how it is." He speaks calmly, but he's shifty now, looking back at his boat like he lost his puppy or something.
"Well, I know how it looks." I'm not going to outright accuse him, but he isn't going to get away with this. And I need him to know that someone is watching, even if it paints a target on my back from much larger, scarier people.
"And how does it look?" He tilts his head and his tone shifts, lighter, almost playful. I recognize the move. He's trying to pull me off balance by making my concern sound like paranoia and it's not going to work.
"It looks like a lot of international freight for a small-town festival."
He chuckles and adjusts his sleeves, rolling them back in place and buttoning his cuffs.
"Well, I appreciate your attention to detail.
Truly… But I think we've wandered off topic.
" He takes a step closer and clasps his hands in front of him.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about something, actually. Your property."
"What about it?" The shift of topic doesn't even throw me. Of course he's going to redirect because he knows I have him dead to rights.
"It's valuable… The stretch of coastline, the bluffs, the acreage running back toward the highway. It's a stunning piece of land, Luke. And I know it's been in your family for a long time…"
"It has," I grumble, not sure where he's going with this. I've already put him in his place once, and just because he drums up some dumb story about my father doesn’t mean I’m going to sell out.
"But it's a lot of upkeep for one man." He pauses and looks down at my leg, just for a beat, long enough to make sure I know he's looking.
"Especially a man dealing with the kind of physical demands this place requires.
Your father kept it up beautifully, but he had decades of practice and two good legs under him.
I don't mean any disrespect by that." His hands come up in false surrender with his palms out flat toward me. He meant it in utter disrespect.
The man is openly insulting me to my face so I'll react.
My hands curl into fists at my sides and I keep them there. "None taken."
"I'd like to make you an offer on the property.
A generous one. Enough to set you up somewhere more manageable, maybe closer to town where the terrain is flatter and the maintenance is lighter.
Your father was already on board with this.
I'm sure he'd want you to respect that." I doubt my father ever looked this man in the eye once.
"I'm not selling."
"I think you should consider it—"
"I have considered it and the answer is still no." No way in hell, not now, not ever. I will not sell off my property to anyone, let alone a viper who intends to bury this town in crime. God only knows what sort of evil is being leaked into our country at his hands.
His plastic smile stays put, but I see the violence in his eyes he's trying to hide from me. "That's your prerogative, of course. I just hate to see a young man struggle with something that could be so easily resolved."
"I appreciate the concern, Mr. Dorsey, but I'm doing just fine with my property and my marina.
And I'd suggest that if you're looking to invest around here, you be careful about how you go about it.
This town has a long memory and it doesn't take kindly to outsiders who try to take advantage of good people. "
My words hit their target, and Dorsey's smile thins. He squints out at the water and then back at me, and when he speaks again his voice has shifted to a warning tone, wrapped in an air of pleasantness.
"You know, it's a funny thing about small towns," he says.
"People get so attached to the way things are that they forget the world is moving forward with or without them.
And when they band together to resist progress, well…
" He shrugs one shoulder. "People get hurt.
It's not intentional, of course. It's just the natural consequence of refusing help when it's offered.
Stubbornness has a cost, Luke. It'd be a real shame if the good people of your tight-knit little community paid that cost because they couldn't see what was right in front of them. "
My blood boils. I want to grab him by his pressed collar and ask him whether he'd like to find out firsthand what a man with a limp can do when someone threatens the people he cares about.
But I don't move. I stand exactly where I am and I let the adrenaline course through my body until it wears itself out in my smile.
This has to be done the right way. Rico's evidence is locked in my desk. Hannah needs to see it. The authorities need to receive it. And Dorsey needs to believe he's still operating in the dark until the moment the walls close in on him.
So I nod at him and act as nonchalant as I can. "Have a good day, Mr. Dorsey."
Dorsey chuckles and shakes his head, but he walks past me toward the parking lot. His crates sit there unattended, giving me the perfect opportunity to pry one open, but with his men aboard his boat, I don't dare try it. I don't need an attempted robbery charge on my permanent record.
Turning, I watch him walk. He takes his phone out of his pocket and dials someone, then holds it to his ear.
For all I know, he's calling one of his higher ups who help bankroll this operation and telling them he has a problem.
Well, good. If that's the case, they'll all have their little warning that something isn't going to go as they planned.
And I intend to follow through with this to the fullest extent, which is why I'm going to do this the right way. And I'm going to protect Hannah with my life.
Her and my unborn child.