Chapter 50 Vault
Caleb
The perfect, polished life of the Lancaster Law Firm was nothing but a heavy disguise. It was a coat I wore every day. No one, not the people who worked for us, not our competitors, and definitely not my brothers, would ever guess the real, ugly secret that paid for our luxury cars, expensive suits and fancy houses. They saw the successful lawyer, the family heir, the man of clean ethics. They never saw the truth beneath the surface.
I drove the car into the damp, grimy loading dock of what looked like a completely abandoned warehouse downtown.
I held up my special access card for the huge man guarding the inner door. He didn't smile, his eyes were cold and empty, and the heavy steel door slid open with a sharp, grating noise.
Stepping inside felt like walking into another world. This was the entrance to the underground casino, but it was also the engine room of our family’s true business.
The noise hit me first, a chaotic, loud roar of shouting and excitement. This wasn't the polite sound of a legal casino. This place was raw and reckless. Red and yellow lights flashed everywhere, reflecting off the mirrored pillars that were meant to look fancy but only showed the grime and the uncontrolled energy.
Men and a few women were crowded around dozens of poorly lit poker tables, shouting bets and slamming chips. These were the muscle, the dealers, the low-level criminals, and the fools who were desperate enough to gamble here. They were loud and energetic, knowing this place was illegal and that danger was part of the fun.
I moved through the crowd. Keeping my face blank, like a boss checking a routine detail.
I found Diego near the bar. He was counting stacks of cash into a thick envelope. He was a middle-aged man, slightly short, with a thick neck and hands that looked like they had been built for breaking things. He wore a cheap, shiny black shirt, and he looked annoyed all the time.
"Caleb," he greeted me, his voice rough and low, carrying a thick Spanish accent. He quickly tucked the cash away. "Didn't expect you. Where's your father tonight?"
"My father is dealing with unexpected business at the law firm," I lied smoothly, giving the usual family excuse. "He has a sudden bout of illness. I am handling the logistics tonight."
Diego didn't look like he believed me, but he nodded. "Right. The bosses sometimes get sick when the merchandise arrives." He glanced around the casino floor. "The merchants arrived an hour ago, like we planned. Quietly. No trouble."
I kept my face perfectly still. Merchants. That's the awful code word we use for the victims. "How many?"
"They’re all here. Follow me. We keep them far from the floor. No accidents before crossing the border."
Diego led me away from the loud noise. We went past a long row of noisy slot machines, then through a heavy, unmarked door that was disguised to look like a simple storage closet. As soon as that door shut, the noise dropped. The hot, loud air of the casino was instantly replaced by a cold, dry silence.
We were in a narrow, service corridor. The walls were bare concrete. Diego pulled open another door, this one a thick steel vault door that needed a code and a fingerprint scan.
The moment the vault door clicked open and we stepped through, the silence deepened even more. We were in a soundproof room, completely isolated from everything else.
The room was large, cold, and had no windows. A single, bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. And in the center of that room, I saw the reason I was here.
Fifteen young girls were lined up along one wall, sitting on the cold floor. They were bound tightly and cruelly. Their wrists were tied behind their backs with thick plastic. Each girl was blindfolded with a strip of dark cloth. Their mouths were sealed with thick, white tape that served as a gag.
Even though they couldn't scream, they were still fighting and making muffle sounds.
"That's the full count," Diego stated, his voice flat, pointing toward the terrifying group. "Clean delivery. All fifteen accounted for. We move them out in two separate shipments starting at midnight, through the old smuggling tunnels under the river."
My heart hammered hard in my chest. I had to stay focused.
"Good," I managed to say, forcing my voice to sound like I approved. I walked closer to the girls, forcing myself to look at their fear. "Are the other packages ready? The pharmaceutical deliveries?"
"The drugs are in the trucks already," Diego confirmed. "We use the drug trafficking as cover for the human merchandise. The guards pay more attention when they smell the high-grade cocaine." He gave a short, ugly laugh.
I looked at the girls, and my mind flashed back to six or seven years ago.
That was the last time I had stood in a room like this. That was the last time I had tried to play the hero. I was younger and stupidly angry. I tried to free the girls on the way to the drop-off point. They ran out of the truck, panicked, scattering into the lonely, dark streets near the river.
They didn't know the territory . The crew chased them down and shot at them. I watched the scene fall apart. Five of them were killed.