Chapter 4 - The Boathouse Reckoning
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the cabin like a gunshot.
Marcus stumbled backward, tripping over a stack of ledger boxes, while Julian Vance spun around from the desk, his eyes widening in pure horror as a tall, imposing figure in a dark tactical jacket rose seamlessly from the shards of glass.
""Captain... Captain Hawthorne,"" Julian stammered, his face turning the color of curdled milk as he frantically reached inside his tailored suit jacket for a concealed pistol.
He was too slow.
Before Julian’s fingers could wrap around the grip of his firearm, Charlotte closed the distance across the room in three long strides. She drove the palm of her hand upward into his jaw with calculated, bone-rattling force. Julian collapsed backward onto the wooden floor, spitting blood and teeth, completely incapacitated.
Marcus scrambled for the door, diving toward the exit with wild panic in his eyes.
Charlotte didn't chase him. She drew a heavy-duty industrial zip-tie from her cargo pocket, spun around, and tossed it like a bola, catching Marcus’s ankles as he lunged past the doorway. He crashed hard onto the porch planks, howling as Charlotte pinned him to the floor with her boot square between his shoulder blades.
""Where is my father?"" she demanded, her voice cutting through the night like a scalpel.
""I don't know—I swear I don't know!"" Marcus shrieked into the wooden floorboards. ""Julian did it! Julian handled the Arthur situation! I was just the accountant!""
Charlotte leaned down, pressing her boot harder into his spine until he gasped for air. ""You have ten seconds to tell me the exact coordinates of the boathouse foundation before I decide to let federal investigators use waterboarding techniques to refresh your memory.""
""Under the east pier!"" Marcus sobbed hysterically. ""The old access tunnel! He’s under the concrete slab!""
Ten minutes later, the wail of sirens returned—much louder this time, accompanied by the heavy thrum of a county police helicopter hovering overhead with a blinding searchlight cutting across the dark surface of the lake.
Sheriff Vance and half a dozen deputies swarmed the cabin, weapons drawn. They found Julian Vance handcuffed to a support pillar with heavy industrial zip-ties and Marcus blubbering on the floor in a puddle of tears.
May you like
Charlotte stood outside by the edge of the dark water, staring down at the old wooden boathouse where the ripples of the lake lapped silently against the pilings.
Her father was down there. But her fight was only just beginning.
