Chapter 16: The Meeting

The warehouse district at the end of the day looked like a post-apocalyptic wasteland, with vacant structures casting long shadows across broken pavement and broken windows reflecting the dying light like dead eyes. Grace sat in her car, three streets from the stated address, every instinct telling her to drive immediately and never turn back.

Santos said, "Audio check," through her practically undetectable headset.

"Clear," she whispered.

"Visualize your place. We have teams stationed at each exit route.

"That's comforting."

"Grace, you don't need to do this. We can………."He specifically advised us to come alone or not at all. If Derek encounters law enforcement, the entire thing falls."

She didn't mention that collapse could be better to whatever Derek had planned. The address he mentioned belonged to a defunct automobile parts wholesaler, three storeys of empty space with many entry points and numerous hiding places for a body.

Her phone buzzed: Building 47, third floor. Come up the fire escape on the east side.

Even his instructions seemed like a death sentence.

Grace checked her secret recorder one last time, adjusted the GPS beacon in her jacket pocket, and got out of her car. The late afternoon air smelled of rust and decay, and industrial ghosts

haunted the vacant streets around her.

Building 47 loomed ahead, its brick facade damaged by decades of weather and neglect. Derek's designated fire escape was more rusted than metal, with each step groaning ominously under her weight as she climbed to whatever awaited her on the third story.

"Second floor," she muttered to Santos.

She could see into the interior via broken windows, which were large empty expanses filled with shadows and rubbish. Perfect for an ambush, but poor for an escape.

The third-floor landing terminated with a massive metal door that was slightly ajar. Grace paused to listen for sounds from within. Nothing but the distant buzz of traffic on the main road and her own pounding heart.

She pushed the door open.

The space beyond was larger than what she was expecting, with an open floor arrangement, concrete pillars holding the ceiling, and industrial lighting fixtures hung like metal skeletons. Many of the windows were covered up, creating a tangle of light and shade that made it hard to see more than twenty feet in any direction.

"Derek?" she inquired, her voice echoing unnaturally in the empty space.

"Over here."

The voice came from her left, further into the shadows between two gigantic support pillars. Grace went cautiously over the debris-strewn floor, glass crunching beneath her boots, with each step putting her further away from the fire escape and closer into Derek's chosen area.

He stood with his back to a boarded window, silhouetted against the narrow strips of light that filtered through the holes in the plywood. Even in the weak lighting, Derek Voss appeared to be precisely who he was: a man who had spent years in maximum security and had trained to make his mere presence a danger.

"You came alone," he replied, clearly shocked. "I wasn't sure you had the courage."

"What do you want, Derek?"

"Let's get straight to business. "I like that." He stepped away from the glass, gently circling her like a predator assessing prey. "What I want is for Max to understand that his debt to me extends beyond money or favors."

"What debt?" You went to prison because of your decisions, not because Max testified against you."

"Is that what he told you?" Derek's laugh was frigid and mechanical. "Did he say his testimony was voluntary? That the prosecutors promised him complete amnesty in exchange for his cooperation?

Grace felt frost in her stomach. "That's not……." "Max might have remained silent. They could

have claimed ignorance, engaged costly lawyers, and made the case disappear. Instead, he opted to put me under the bus to save himself."

"He was trying to get out of that life."

"He was trying to sacrifice me for his redemption story." Derek stopped circling and positioned himself between Grace and the exit. 

"Eight years, Grace." I spent eight years in a concrete box, surrounded by brutal guys, wondering if I'd ever see another day. All so Max could portray the rehabilitated criminal with his spotless restaurant and attractive girlfriend."

The intimate details in his voice made her skin crawl. This is not about money or illegal perspective; it is about justice, straight and simple.

"So, what's your endgame?" she inquired. "Kill us both?" "How does that help your situation?"

"Who said anything about killing?" Derek brought out his phone and showed her the screen. "I've been photographing Max's current lifestyle extensively. His business, relationships, and

daily activities. "Very detailed documentation."

The screen displayed dozens of images showing Max leaving their apartment, working at the restaurant, grocery shopping, and interacting with suppliers. Weeks of observation resulted in a complete record of his life.

"My new business associates are very interested in Max's cooperation," he said. "Not because they need him specifically, but because they need to know I can deliver on my promises."

"What promises?"

"That Derek Voss can still make people do what he needs them to do."

The warehouse went silent, except for the distant sound of sirens somewhere in the city. Grace calculated her distance from the exit and her odds of getting to the fire escape before Derek could stop her.

"You're thinking about running," Derek noticed. "Don't. I am not here to hurt you, Grace. "I am here to make you an offer."

"What kind of offer?"

"Max works with my associates for six months. Through his restaurant connections, he helps to develop their money laundering enterprise. Provides introductions to suppliers, distributors, and other restaurant owners who may be interested in other revenue streams."

"And in exchange?"

"After six months, both of you can walk away. "A clean break, no more obligations, no looking over your shoulders for the rest of your lives."

The offer appeared reasonable, which made it immensely more hazardous than direct threats.

"What happens if Max refuses?"

Derek's smile was as icy as ice. "Then I began sharing my extensive paperwork with some quite unpleasant individuals. "People who do not distinguish between primary targets and collateral damage."

"You mean you'll have us killed."

"I mean, I'll make it apparent to certain people that Max betrayed them back in the day. "People with longer memories and shorter tempers than me."

The threat was elegantly simple. Derek didn't have to kill them; he only needed to persuade other

criminals that Max was a liability. Allow someone else to pull the trigger while Derek maintains plausible deniability.

"How do I know you'll honor the agreement?" Grace asked.

"Because murdering Max once he's done his function would be detrimental to business. My colleagues must be certain that they can rely on me. Dead partners do not inspire confidence.

"And how do I know Max will survive six months working with your associates?"

Derek smiled wider. "You don't."

The nonchalant admission landed like a physical blow. Derek was giving them the opportunity to postpone their execution, not prevent it. Six months of forced cooperation, followed by whatever his criminal colleagues see acceptable.

"There's a third option," Grace explained gently.

"I'm listening."

“Max disappears.” Tonight. He leaves town, assumes a new identity, and never returns. 

You inform your coworkers that he ran rather than comply. Your credibility is intact, you don't have to worry about him testifying against you again, and everyone moves on."

Derek considered this, tilting his head like a bird observing an intriguing insect.

"And you?"

"I disappear with him."

"Leaving behind your career, your family, your entire life."

"If that's what it takes."

"That's very romantic, Grace. Very noble. Also, absolutely impossible."

"Why?"

"Because my colleagues already know about you. They have seen the photos and heard the recordings of our chats. You are now a part of the equation.

The words landed like hammer strikes. Derek had already ensured that there was no way out for either of them, regardless of their decision.

"So our options are cooperation or death," Grace stated bluntly.

"Your options are cooperation or immediate death versus cooperation and possible survival."

As Derek spoke, Grace became aware of additional sounds in the warehouse, including footfall on metal and voices from the lower levels. Others were entering the building.

"My associates wanted to meet you both," Derek said, seeing her reaction. "Unfortunately, Max decided not to attend. But they're quite interested in meeting you."

The footsteps were getting closer, reverberating up the stairs from all directions. Grace recognized with crystal clarity that she had stepped into something considerably worse than a negotiation.

She had strolled into an execution that Derek had staged to appear accidental.