Chapter 14 - The Harbor at Midnight
The damp, salty air of the harbor clung to Victoria’s skin as she stumbled backward out of the back of the van, her stiletto heel catching on the rusted iron lip of the loading dock. She barely caught her balance, gripping the rough wooden railing of the pier. Below her, the dark, churning waters of the bay slapped rhythmically against the wooden pilings.
"Julian?" Victoria gasped, her chest heaving as she stared at him in the dim amber light of the rusted overhead lamps. "Where are the marshals? What is this?"
Julian stepped out of the van, tossing the heavy wire cutters onto the wooden planks with a dull clatter. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore; his white shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing pale, freckled arms.
"There are no marshals, Victoria," Julian said calmly, pulling a small silver key from his pocket and tossing it toward her feet. It landed with a soft chime on the wood. "Arthur played his hand, the feds got their public spectacle, and the foundation is officially bankrupt. Everyone got what they wanted."
Victoria stared down at the key, then back up at his cold, calculating eyes. "If the feds don't have me... where are we? What do you want?"
"You think Arthur brought me down because I betrayed your family?" Julian laughed, a short, bitter sound that was swallowed by the wind off the water. "Arthur didn't want justice, Victoria. He wanted control of the remaining shell assets. And to get clean title to those assets, the state needs a scapecode who legally takes the fall for the entire forty-year history of the trust."
The horror of the situation washed over her like freezing seawater. "You’re not saving me. You’re smuggling me out."
"I'm giving you a choice," Julian corrected, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her like a shroud. "You take the freighter idling three miles out in international waters—destination South America, no passport, no money, no name—or you stay right here and wait for the real federal indictment to hit your cell in the morning, which guarantees you forty years without parole."
Victoria looked back toward the dark expanse of the ocean. A distant red navigation light blinked slowly on the horizon, marking the outline of a massive cargo ship cutting through the black swells.
"And if I take the ship?" Victoria whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.
May you like
Julian smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded document, holding it up in the wind. "Then you sign this confession, admitting to every single transaction, every diverted fund, and every forged signature from the day your father took over the board. Once you're on that boat, you legally cease to exist."
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