Chapter 6 - The Sniper's Echo
The deafening silence that rushed in after the single gunshot felt heavier than the fog rolling off the Sound. Julian dropped to his knees on the slick wooden planks, his dark suit soaking instantly in the freezing brine surrounding Maya Lin’s motionless form. His gloved hands hovered over her chest, trembling as he searched for a pulse beneath the heavy wool of her trench coat, his mind refusing to process the crimson spreading across the fabric near her right shoulder.
"Maya," he said, his voice cracking into a harsh whisper that was instantly swallowed by the wind.
She wasn't dead—not yet. Her dark eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused, fighting against the shock. With a superhuman effort, her fingers twitched, pushing the manila envelope across the wet wood toward Julian’s boots. Her lips parted, forming two soundless words before her head fell back against the grain of the pier.
Trust no one.
Before Julian could grab the envelope, a blinding beam of white light cut through the fog from the access road behind him. The heavy thrum of a high-displacement engine roared to life, tires spinning viciously on the loose gravel before tearing away toward the highway. A black SUV—its license plates obscured by a thick coating of mud—fishtailed onto the paved road and vanished into the night.
Julian didn't chase the vehicle. He scooped the manila envelope off the deck, shoved it deep inside his breast pocket, and unzipped his overcoat to press a folded linen handkerchief directly against Maya’s wound to stem the bleeding, pulling his cell phone out with his free hand to dial 911.
"Dispatch, this is Julian Vance. I need an ambulance at the Old Lyme municipal pier immediately. Gunshot wound, trauma to the right shoulder, patient is losing consciousness—"
"Mr. Vance?" the dispatcher’s voice crackled through the static. "State police units are already en route to your location. An anonymous tip was logged three minutes ago reporting shots fired at the pier... by you."
Julian froze, the phone slipping a fraction of an inch from his ear as the chilling machinery of a meticulously planned trap locked shut around him. The anonymous tip hadn't been placed after the shot—it had been timed to coincide with it. Whoever pulled the trigger from the tree line didn't just want Maya silenced; they wanted Julian framed for the murder, locked away in a maximum-security penitentiary before he could open the manila envelope sitting against his heart.
Fifteen minutes later, the flashing red and blue strobes of three state trooper cruisers painted the foggy night sky in violent hues. Julian stood with his hands handcuffed behind his back, leaning against the hood of a cruiser as Sergeant Miller—a weathered state trooper who had known the Vance family for twenty years—inspected the crime scene with a grim expression.
"You picked a hell of a night for a midnight stroll, Julian," Miller said, walking back toward him, holding a plastic evidence bag containing a single brass shell casing recovered from the gravel access road fifty yards away. "Caller said they saw you arguing with a woman on the pier, heard a shot, and saw you standing over the body with a bloody handkerchief."
"The shooter was in the tree line across the access road, Miller," Julian said, his voice flat, controlled, and entirely devoid of panic. "High-powered rifle, suppressed. Check the ridge near the old boathouse. You'll find boot prints and a spent casing from a custom round that doesn't match standard law enforcement inventory."
Miller stared at Julian for a long moment, the older man’s eyes scanning the younger CEO’s unruffled demeanor with deep suspicion. "The woman you were meeting... records show she checked into the Mayflower under the name Maya Lin. Federal tax attorney out of Chicago. She filed an emergency injunction against your family's corporate trust this afternoon, Julian. That gives you motive, opportunity, and isolation."
Julian didn't flinch. He looked straight into Miller's eyes, knowing that if he let slip a single word about David Vance or the manila envelope burning against his chest, he would never make it out of the precinct alive. "Check the dashboard camera of the first cruiser that arrived on the scene, Sergeant. If your dashcam was rolling as you rounded the bend, you'll see a black SUV with mud-obscured plates heading away from the pier at ninety miles an hour. That's your shooter."
May you like
Miller turned away without answering, barking orders for the forensics team to sweep the tree line, but as he walked back toward his vehicle, Julian felt the cold, hard edge of the manila envelope pressing against his ribs, reminding him that the real battle had only just begun.
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