My Milf Conqueror System novel Chapter 121

Chapter 121: The Dead Cargo

[Ethan’s POV]

The Black Sea Anchor was exactly the kind of tavern where men went to disappear.

It sat on the edge of the commercial docks, a low, concrete bunker of a building that smelled of spilled vodka, cheap tobacco, and unwashed bodies. The music thumping from the jukebox was a heavy, aggressive Russian bass track that rattled the floorboards.

I sat at a sticky wooden table in the corner, my flat cap pulled low over my eyes. Claire sat across from me, her face buried in the collar of her oversized parka. We had been nursing the same two glasses of warm beer for an hour, just watching and listening.

"The Panamanian freighters," Claire murmured, leaning forward so only I could hear her. "I checked the public port registry at an internet cafe down the street before we came in. Two of the three ships Jake noted in his journal are currently docked at Pier 14. They’re registered as carrying agricultural machinery."

"Agricultural machinery doesn’t require that many armed guards," I replied, my eyes tracking a group of rough-looking men at the bar. "Isabella is moving something else. Its either weapons, black-market tech or Cash."

"Then if Jake knows they’re here, he’s going to hit them right?" Claire asked.

"He might already have," I said, nodding toward the bar.

The men I had been watching were dockworkers, but they weren’t acting like men who had just finished a long, hard shift. They were agitated. One of them, a massive Ukrainian with a thick beard and a bruised jaw, was speaking in rapid, hushed tones to the bartender, waving his hands frantically.

I stood up, sliding a thick stack of euros from my pocket into the palm of my hand. "Stay here."

I walked over to the bar, slipping into the empty space next to the bearded Ukrainian. I didn’t look at him. I just placed the stack of euros on the sticky counter and slid it toward the bartender.

The bartender, a bald man with a scar over his eye, looked at the money, then looked at me.

"I’m looking for a ghost," I said in Russian, keeping my voice low and even. "An American. Tall. Dark hair. He’s been asking questions about the Panamanian freighters at Pier 14."

The bearded Ukrainian next to me suddenly went rigid. He slowly turned his head, his eyes wide with a mixture of hostility and deep, lingering fear.

"You are a friend of the demon?" the Ukrainian asked, his voice a gravelly rasp.

"I’m looking for him," I said, shifting my stance slightly, preparing for a fight.

The Ukrainian let out a harsh, bitter laugh and grabbed his shot glass. "Then you should look in hell. Because that is where he sent my crew last night."

I slid another fifty euros across the bar. The Ukrainian snatched it up.

"We were hired to unload a special shipping container from the Santa Maria," the man said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Off the books. No customs inspectors. The boss—a woman from the West—pays very well for discretion. We moved the container to a holding warehouse on the edge of the pier."

"And the American?" I pressed.

"He was waiting for us," the man shuddered, rubbing his bruised jaw. "He didn’t have a gun. He didn’t make a sound. He just... came out of the shadows. He moved like water. He broke Ivan’s arm in three places. He crushed Sergei’s windpipe with a wrench. There were eight of us, and he dismantled us in less than two minutes."

"Did he take the cargo?" I asked, my pulse quickening.

"No," the Ukrainian said, staring into his empty glass. "He didn’t even open the crates. He just took the ledger from the foreman. The physical manifest. Then he poured gasoline over the container and burned it to the ground."

Jake wasn’t stealing Isabella’s assets. He was destroying them. And he was taking the paper trails to find the next link in the chain.

"Where is the warehouse?" I asked.

"Pier 14, Warehouse 7," the man muttered. "But you are too late. The boss’s private security arrived this morning. Men in black suits with submachine guns. They locked the place down."

I nodded, turning away from the bar. I walked back to the table and tapped the wood twice. Claire immediately stood up, following me out the heavy iron door and into the freezing night air.

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