Chapter 14
The wind off the lake was biting and merciless, carrying the sharp scent of rotting kelp and engine oil across the abandoned commercial marina. Rows of rusted boat hulls sat neglected beneath rotting canvas tarpaulins, casting long, crooked shadows in the pale afternoon sun.
David parked his sedan near the rusted chain-link fence, the engine ticking as it cooled. In the passenger seat, Clara sat upright, her face pale but composed. Hidden in the breast pocket of David’s jacket was a micro-SD card adapter containing a secure data packet, while three unmarked police cruisers sat parked half a mile down the access road, their radios linked directly to a wire concealed in David’s collar.
“Remember,” Clara whispered, grabbing David’s hand tightly. “You just need to stall him until federal backup moves in. Do not engage him directly.”
David nodded, swallowing hard. He opened the car door, the cold wind whipping his hair across his forehead, and stepped out onto the gravel.
Walking toward the decaying wooden office building at the end of the pier, David’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. The wooden boards creaked ominously beneath his shoes as he pushed open the warped door of the office.
Inside, the room was dim, illuminated only by shafts of grey light cutting through grime-covered windows. Standing by the desk overlooking the gray water was a tall, impeccably dressed man in his late fifties, wearing a dark wool overcoat. Marcus Vance turned slowly, a thin, humorless smile touching the corners of his mouth.
“You came alone. I’m impressed, David,” Vance said smoothly, stepping out from the shadows. His eyes were cold, devoid of warmth or empathy. “You inherited your father’s stubbornness, but clearly not his intelligence.”
“I have the records you’ve been looking for, Marcus,” David said, keeping his voice steady through sheer force of will. He kept his hand near his jacket pocket, feeling the cold plastic of the adapter. “Let’s end this. Right here, right now.”
May you like
Vance chuckled, a dry, mocking sound. “End this? My family lost thirty years, David. You think a little data card makes up for a ruined legacy?”
“It proves the truth,” David replied, holding his ground as he heard the faint, distant rumble of approaching cruiser engines closing in down the gravel access road.
