Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Shadows
Twenty-four hours after the crash, the Baltimore Sun ran the headline on its front page: TRAGEDY AT SAVANNAH CREEK: SHIPYARD HEIRESS AND PARALYZED BROTHER PRESUMED DEAD AFTER SUBMERGED VEHICLE RECOVERED.
The dive teams had pulled the crushed SUV from the murky depths at dawn. Because the rear window had been shattered and the door was wide open, the official police report concluded that the violent river current had swept our bodies downriver toward Chesapeake Bay. The search was ongoing, but hope had been officially abandoned.
Disguised in a worn oversized trench coat, dark sunglasses, and a brunette wig Tobias had procured from a theater district contact, I stood across the street from the Vance estate in Roland Park. Tobias sat inside an unassuming gray utility van half a block away, monitoring police frequencies and tapped phone lines through a modified radio receiver.
Through a pair of high-powered binoculars, I watched the grand wrought-iron gates swing open. Cars lined the circular driveway: black town cars, city council members, business executives, and floral delivery vans.
Then I saw him.
Garrett stepped out onto the wide stone terrace. He wore a tailored black suit with a black tie. In front of the visiting mourners, his head hung low, a white linen handkerchief pressed against his reddened eyes. An elderly board member patted his shoulder, and Garrett dramatically wiped his face, shaking his head as if the grief was too heavy for his soul to bear.
Then Penelope stepped through the French doors behind him.
She wore a modest dark navy dress that accentuated the gentle curve of her pregnant belly. She placed a comforting hand on Garrett’s lower back. To any outside observer, she looked like a grieving half-sister leaning on her widowed brother-in-law for mutual solace.
But through the binoculars, the resolution was crystal clear.
When the board member walked away down the marble stairs, Garrett dropped the handkerchief. The agonized expression vanished from his face instantly, replaced by a triumphant, razor-sharp smirk. He turned to Penelope, grabbed the back of her neck, and pulled her into a passionate, hungry kiss right on the terrace.
Penelope giggled, running her manicured nails over his lapel. She whispered something into his ear, and Garrett let out a deep, arrogant chuckle. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out my grandmother’s vintage emerald ring—which I had left on my dresser before our ill-fated drive—and slid it onto Penelope’s left ring finger.
My hands trembled violently against the brass casing of the binoculars. The metal dug into my skin until I felt warm blood prick my palms.
He gave her my grandmother’s ring.
"Rosalind, talk to me," Tobias’s voice crackled through the covert earpiece tucked into my ear. "Your heart rate is spiking on the audio feed. Do not do anything stupid. Stay in position."
"He gave her the ring, Toby," I whispered, the words tasting like copper. "He gave Penelope Mama's emerald."
"Let her wear it," Tobias answered smoothly, his tone ice-cold. "It’ll make it so much sweeter when we strip it off her dead fingers in front of a judge. Listen to me: Garrett’s personal assistant just scheduled an emergency meeting with the board of directors for tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock. He’s invoking the incapacity clause to assume sole emergency chairmanship of the shipyard."
"He doesn't have the voting authority without a certified death certificate," I said, forcing my breathing to steady.
"He doesn't have the death certificate, but he has Arthur Vance’s old cronies on the board," Tobias replied. "They’re planning to vote through a temporary resolution to approve the merger with Vance Maritime before the bodies are even found. If that merger goes through, our assets are liquidated into their offshore shell companies. We have less than twenty-four hours to cut the ground out from under them."
I lowered the binoculars and pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders. "Who is the primary auditor handling the merger evaluation?"
"Jonathan Mercer," Tobias said. "Dad’s oldest friend. He’s been quiet, but he’s suspicious. Garrett has him under twenty-four-hour surveillance to keep him in line."
May you like
I glanced back at the terrace. Garrett was pouring champagne into two crystal flutes, handing one to my sister as they toasted to our empty graves.
"Get Mercer to a secure line," I whispered into the mic, turning my back on the house. "It's time the ghost made her first phone call."
