Chapter 6 - Locked Inside The Trap
The heavy iron latch dropped into place from the outside with a definitive, metallic thud that echoed off the rotting timber walls. Mark spun around, lunging toward the door and slamming his shoulder against the thick oak wood. It didn't budge an inch.
“Hey! Open up!” Mark shouted, pounding his fists furiously against the splintered surface.
Outside, the steady hiss of the falling rain was suddenly pierced by the crunch of heavy boots on gravel. Then came the unmistakable sound of a heavy steel chain being wrapped around the exterior door handles, followed by a thick padlock snapping shut.
“We’re trapped,” Clara said, her voice completely devoid of emotion as she stood frozen in the center of the dusty room. She looked down at Lily, who was clinging to Mark’s leg, crying softly. “You lied to me about everything, Mark. All these years... it was all built on stolen money.”
“Clara, listen to me,” Mark pleaded, turning away from the locked door and stepping toward her with his hands raised defensively. “I didn't steal it for myself. I did it because our company was going under, and they were going to ruin us. David was skimming off the top, and I was the scapegoat. I took the fall so we could have a clean start.”
“You let a man take the blame for a crime you committed?” Clara asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. She pointed an accusing finger at David, who was slowly standing up, dusting off his ruined suit.
David leaned against the wooden wall, wincing as he stretched his stiff back. “He’s a saint, isn't he? Except for the small detail that the people he stole from aren't the kind of people who let bygones be bygones. They’ve been tracking us for years, Clara. And now, they’ve finally caught up to all of us.”
“Quiet, David,” Mark snapped, stepping between David and his family. He knelt down to Lily’s eye level, ignoring the brewing storm between the adults. “Sweetheart, look at me. I need you to be very brave for just a minute, okay?”
Lily nodded tearfully, her small hands wiping away the moisture from her cheeks. “Are the bad men going to hurt us, daddy?”
“Never,” Mark promised, his voice firm and steady despite the chaos around them. He unzipped his dark blue jacket and draped it around Lily’s shoulders to keep her warm against the damp chill of the boathouse.
Clara walked over to one of the shattered windows overlooking the reservoir. Through the broken glass, she could see the headlights of the black sedan parked near the dock. Two bulky figures in dark raincoats were standing by the edge of the water, holding something heavy between them.
As the lightning flashed across the dark sky, illuminating the scene outside in a brilliant, stark white light, Clara saw what the men were holding.
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It was a red plastic gasoline canister, and they were pouring its contents directly over the wooden support beams of the dock leading straight to the boathouse.
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