Chapter 38 - Emergence at the Old Wharf
"Search every slip," a cold, aristocratic voice echoed down from the boardwalk. It was a voice I knew all too well—Victor De La Tour, the Matriarch’s primary executor and the architect of my family's financial ruin. "The current empties into this basin. If they survived the fall, they won't make it past the seawall. Find the children. The man is expendable."
Footsteps began thudding across the wooden planks directly above our heads. Beams of high-powered searchlights cut through the gaps between the boards, striping the dark water below with blinding white lines.
"We have to move," I whispered, gathering Evelyn into my arms. Her fever had broken, but she was still far too weak to walk. "Victor brought the family’s private security corps. They have thermal imaging on the patrol boats."
"Where do we go?" Sarah breathed, holding Lily tight. "The entire district belongs to the De La Tour holdings. Every precinct, every harbor master is on their payroll."
"Not the cathedral," I said, pointing toward the silhouette of St. Jude’s towering over the industrial skyline two miles to the west. "The sanctuary rights from the 1894 charter are still recognized under maritime law. The Matriarch cannot send armed men onto consecrated ground without losing the church’s financial backing."
"That’s two miles through an active blockade, Julian," Sarah said, grimly glancing at her wounded arm. "We're soaked, freezing, and we have two children."
"Then we don't take the streets," I said, looking at the old cargo cranes lining the abandoned rail spur along the wharf. "The old coal tunnels connect the docks directly to the crypt heating systems of the cathedral. My grandfather built them during the strikes."
We slipped off the floating raft, wading quietly through the knee-deep mud beneath the pier toward the rusted iron bulkhead that marked the entrance to the old rail spur. Behind us, a sudden shout shattered the night.
"Down here! Under the pier! Movement in sector four!"
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A hail of automatic fire chewed through the timber pilings above our heads, showering us with splinters.
***
