[Jake's POV]
The southern commercial docks were a maze of towering steel shipping containers, massive loading cranes, and harsh yellow sodium lights. The air smelled of salt, diesel, and wet asphalt.
From the road it looked abandoned. Just endless rows of metal boxes stacked three high, shipping manifests fluttering on clipboard hooks, and the distant sound of water slapping against pilings. But I knew better. The Golden Koi moved millions through this place every month. Art for the high-rollers. Liquor for the casinos. Watches that never saw a customs form. Dockworkers clocked in and out, but the real cargo never touched their hands.
Ethan and I approached Pier 12 on foot, moving silently through the shadows of the container stacks. We wore black tactical gear and NVGs, blending perfectly into the dark, narrow corridors between the corrugated steel walls.
