Chapter 2 - the broken safehouse
Victor didn't look back at Celeste or Adrian as he turned on his heel and marched out of the estate.
"Marco! Get the armored sedans!" Victor commanded into his radio, his broad frame cutting through the panicked crowd in the hallway. "Every operative to Westchester now!"
Twenty minutes later, three black SUVs tore through the broken iron gates of the Westchester estate. Victor stepped out into the pouring rain, drawing his heavy sidearm from his shoulder holster.
The front doors of the safehouse hung off their hinges. Inside, three of Victor’s top security guards lay unconscious on the marble floor.
Victor sprinted up the grand staircase, kicking open the door to his seven-year-old daughter's bedroom.
The room was empty. Her bed was unmade, and her stuffed bear lay upside down on the rug.
"Boss!" Marco called out, stepping into the doorway with a tactical flashlight. "The guards aren't dead—they were hit with high-grade military sleeping gas. Whoever did this didn't want blood."
Victor stepped toward the four-poster bed. Resting squarely on the center of the pink mattress was a vintage silver music box. A small wind-up key on the side was ticking slowly.
Victor knelt, his broad fingers hovering over the silver box. He flipped the latch open.
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Inside, resting on a velvet pad, was an antique brass key attached to a small metal tag.
Etched into the surface of the metal tag was a simple location: Pier 19 — Locker 44.
