Chapter 7 - The Reckoning at the Lake
The rain poured down in heavy, relentless sheets, plastering my hair to my face as I approached the side window of the wooden boathouse.
Inside, illuminated by a single hanging lightbulb, Victor Hale was kneeling beside an open floor safe hidden beneath a canvas tarp. Resting on the wooden table beside him was the oversized, worn-out gray wool coat—the very garment that had been my prison for eleven months.
Victor was frantically cutting open the inner lining of the coat with a sharp utility knife.
He pulled out a thick, yellowed parchment document sealed with red wax.
"Yes!" Victor laughed hysterically, holding the paper up to the light. "Ten million dollars! Julian Vance will make me a rich man!"
CRASH!
I kicked the side wooden door of the boathouse wide open, stepping into the bright light, holding the heavy iron wrench high in my right hand. Gideon stepped in right behind me, blocking the exit with his towering frame.
Victor spun around, his eyes popping out of his head in absolute, paralyzed terror. "What... how... you're dead! You were locked in the archive!"
"You should have used better mortar, Victor," I said, my voice echoing over the sound of the rain beating against the tin roof.
Victor panicked. He grabbed a heavy brass lantern from the table and threw it at my head.
I ducked, the lantern shattering against the wall behind me. Victor lunged forward, trying to dive past me toward the open door, reaching for his utility knife.
I didn't step back. I swung the iron wrench with every ounce of strength in my body.
CLANG!
The heavy wrench struck Victor’s wrist, shattering his bone instantly. He let out a blood-curdling scream, dropping the knife, collapsing onto the wet wooden floorboards, clutching his broken arm, weeping in agony.
I walked over to him, my muddy leather boots stopping inches from his face. I reached down, snatched the yellowed parchment from his hand, and picked up the gray wool coat from the table.
"This coat never belonged to you," I whispered, looking down at the trembling man. "And neither does this estate."
Before Victor could speak, the bright high-beams of three black SUVs cut through the rainy darkness outside the boathouse windows. Tires shrieked against the wet gravel driveway as the vehicles slammed to a halt.
The heavy doors flew open.
Lucian Ashcroft stepped out into the pouring rain.
He wore no coat. His white shirt was soaked, clinging to his broad chest, his steel-gray eyes burning with a terrifying, apocalyptic fury that seemed to make the very air around him vibrate. He had received Gideon’s emergency silent alarm signal on his phone twenty minutes ago while speeding back from the city.
He strode into the boathouse, his hand drawn over his sidearm.
When he saw me standing there—alive, muddy, holding the gray coat and the parchment—his step faltered. The apocalyptic fury in his eyes instantly evaporated, replaced by a raw, desperate relief.
"Alora," Lucian breathed, bridging the distance between us in two massive strides.
He didn't care about the mud. He didn't care about the soot. He wrapped his broad arms tightly around my waist, pulling me hard against his chest, burying his face in my wet hair. I felt his body trembling—a man who had faced death a hundred times, terrified at the thought of losing me.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered hoarsely into my ear. "When Gideon's signal went off... I thought I was too late."
"I'm here, Lucian," I whispered back, wrapping my arms around his neck, sinking into his warmth. "I'm safe."
After a long moment, Lucian pulled back, his hands resting on my shoulders, his eyes scanning my face for any injuries. Then, his gaze fell to Victor, who was groaning on the floor, and then to the document in my hand.
"What is that?" Lucian asked.
I held up the yellowed parchment. "It’s the reason Victor gave me the coat, Lucian. It’s the original territorial covenant signed by your father twelve years ago. The Vance family has been hunting for it for a decade."
Lucian took the document, opening it beneath the hanging light bulb. His eyes scanned the legal text, reading his late father’s signature at the bottom.
Gideon stepped forward, wiping soot from his face. "Victor escaped with the help of guards bribed by Julian Vance, Boss. They set fire to the basement archive to cover their tracks."
Lucian’s jaw set into an impenetrable block of marble. He closed the document, sliding it into his pocket, then looked down at Victor Hale.
"Gideon," Lucian said, his voice dropping into a register so quiet it was almost a whisper.
"Sir?"
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"Put Mr. Hale in the back of my SUV," Lucian ordered, turning back toward the door. "We are going to pay a visit to Julian Vance’s estate."
Lucian held his hand out to me. "Come with me, Alora. It’s time to finalize the accounting."
