Chapter 9 - The Ghost in the Boathouse
The words on the paper echoed in the tense silence of the dining room like a death sentence. Elena clutched toddler Lily tightly against her green sweater, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at Arthur Vance.
"The old boathouse?" Elena repeated, her voice shaking. "Arthur, we sold that property on Lake Michigan ten years ago. Right before you supposedly died."
Arthur’s face remained rigidly impassive, but a tiny twitch in his left cheek betrayed his sudden discomfort. "That property was a worthless piece of swampland," Arthur dismissed coldly, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "There's nothing down there except old rotting timber and mud."
"Then why did your corporate accounts wire five hundred thousand dollars to a local construction firm in Chicago last month with the memo line reading Boathouse Foundation Repair?" Maya countered sharply, stepping up to the table and snatching the note from Detective Miller's gloved hand.
Detective Miller narrowed his eyes, shifting his stance to block Arthur's path toward the hallway. "Looks like you've been lying to us again, Mr. Vance. You didn't just hide money offshore. You stashed physical assets in a property tied directly to your family's history."
David staggered to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. He looked at his father with a mixture of profound betrayal and sickening realization. "You lied to me too," David whispered. "You told me the money in the offshore accounts was all we had left. You used me as a scapegoat to cover up what was buried at the lake."
"You were a useful idiot, David," Arthur replied coldly, showing not an ounce of parental affection. "Someone had to take the fall if the SEC started sniffing around the corporate ledgers. You always were too eager to please your old man."
Clara let out a sharp, breathless laugh, though there was no humor in it—only a terrifying, hysterical edge. "You fool, Arthur," she hissed, stepping right up to her husband's chest. "You think you're the smartest man in the room, but you never saw the real threat coming, did you?"
Before Arthur could respond, Marcus’s phone buzzed aggressively in his pocket. Marcus pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and went completely white.
"Guys," Marcus whispered, holding up the phone so everyone could see the live traffic camera feed streaming from the old lake property. "Someone just set fire to the boathouse."
On the small screen, billows of thick, black smoke poured out of the wooden structure on the edge of the lake, lighting up the gray afternoon sky in a terrifying display of orange flames. Fire trucks could be seen flashing their red and blue lights in the distance, struggling to navigate the muddy access road.
Maya stared at the screen, her mind racing. "The person who threw that brick knew the boathouse was going to burn. They wanted us to know we were running out of time."
Detective Miller didn't hesitate another second. He grabbed his radio, shouting for backup and dispatch units to reroute toward the lake property immediately. He grabbed Arthur by the shoulder, shoving the older man toward the front door.
"You're coming with me, Mr. Vance," Detective Miller ordered harshly. "And the rest of you, stay put until local units arrive."
"No," Maya said, grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair. "If we stay here, we're sitting ducks. Whoever torched that boathouse is coming here next."
May you like
As they rushed out the front door toward the waiting police cruisers, Maya caught a glimpse of a dark sedan parked at the end of the suburban driveway, its headlights blinking twice before speeding off into the dusk.
---
