Chapter 6 - The Ghost in the Cabin
The crunch of fresh snow under Mark’s boots echoed loudly in the stillness of the pine forest. Clara watched from the passenger seat as Mark approached the heavy oak door of the cabin, raising his fist to knock three deliberate times. A minute passed with no answer, the only sound being the wind hissing through the evergreen branches overhead. Just as Mark reached for the iron door handle, the heavy wood creaked inward a few inches, revealing a sliver of warm, yellow light from a kerosene lamp inside.
Clara unbuckled her seatbelt, whispering softly to Lily, who had doppled back off to sleep against the velvety cushion of her seat. Wrapping her dark coat tighter around herself, Clara pushed her door open and stepped out into the freezing air, her boots sinking two inches into the pristine snow. She couldn't stay in the car alone while Mark entered an unknown space; the paranoia from the night's events had burrowed too deep.
As Clara hurried across the snowy clearing and stepped over the threshold, she stopped short. The interior of the cabin smelled of old paper, pipe tobacco, and cedar wood. Sitting in a worn leather armchair by a crackling stone fireplace was an elderly man with a shock of untamed white hair and wire-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose. It was Arthur Vance, David’s estranged uncle and the former chief financial officer of Halm Development who had vanished from the corporate world a decade ago.
"You brought company, Mark," Arthur said, his voice raspy like dry autumn leaves as he didn't even bother looking up from a leather-bound ledger spread across his lap. "And judging by the panic in your eyes, you finally opened Pandora's box."
"Arthur, we're running out of time," Mark said, closing the heavy door behind Clara and locking the deadbolt with a resounding click. "Richard has locked our accounts, seized our home, and sent David to intercept us at the old shipyard."
Arthur slowly closed the ledger, adjusting his glasses as he turned his faded blue eyes toward Clara. "David is a good hound, always chasing the scent his master lays down. But he lacks vision. He doesn't realize that Richard isn't just protecting the company's wealth—he's preparing to sell it out from underneath every shareholder to a foreign conglomerate based in Zurich."
Clara stepped forward into the warm circle of firelight, pulling the encrypted flash drive from her coat pocket and setting it on the scarred wooden table between them. "Evelyn gave this to us. She said it contains five years of illegal wire transfers."
Arthur looked down at the small black device, a grim, humorless smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Evelyn always was the only one of my old associates with any backbone. But that drive is only half the puzzle, my dear. Richard didn't just move money; he forged the signature of the primary trustee—my brother David's father—to strip the pension funds legally."
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Before anyone could respond, a sharp, metallic tapping sound echoed from the front window, followed by the dull thud of heavy boots on the wooden porch outside.
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