Chapter 4 - The 4 AM Heist
Back on the security monitors at 4:32 a.m., the resort's grand entrance looked like an industrial warehouse during a blowout sale.
The heavy rain outside beat against the panoramic glass windows, but inside, the movers were working at a feverish pace under Derek's screaming directions.
"Hurry up, you idiots!" Derek roared, checking his $25,000 Patek Philippe watch every two minutes. "The sun rises at six-forty! I want these trucks rolling out to the highway before the staff arrives for the morning shift!"
Two movers were struggling to maneuver an eight-foot gilded mirror from the main ballroom out through the double doors.
The frame was hand-carved mahogany, brought from a historic manor in Savannah, valued at sixty-five thousand dollars.
The workers lost their grip on the slippery wet steps outside, and the mirror smashed onto the stone terrace with a deafening explosion of splintering glass.
Derek didn't care about the art; he just kicked a broken wooden shard off the porch and pointed at the next truck.
"Leave the glass for the cleanup crew!" he barked. "Get the safe out of Bennett's office! We need the bearer bonds and the original title files before we leave!"
Inside my office, Vanessa was tearing through Eleanor's personal filing cabinets, tossing thirty years of hand-written recipes, resort architectural blueprints, and guest books onto the floor like trash.
She was sweating despite the cool coastal air, her mascara smudged, her eyes darting around the room with paranoid greed.
She found the velvet-lined mahogany box where Eleanor kept her personal jewelry and the original bronze master key to Seabrook Haven's very first door.
Vanessa snatched the master key and shoved it deep into her designer handbag.
"Everything in this room belongs to me," she muttered to herself, her voice shaking with manic triumph. "Everything. The old man had his time. Now it's my turn to live like royalty."
Marcus called me through the internal intercom from the security shack.
"Mr. Bennett, they've just finished loading the entire south lounge," Marcus said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The second truck is packed to the ceiling with the wine cellar inventory—all the 1982 Bordeaux and the vintage Champagne Eleanor collected. Total value on that truck alone is easily half a million dollars."
"Let them seal the doors, Marcus," I replied calmly. "Are the movers using commercial bills of lading?"
"Yes, sir. Derek handed the foremen fake corporate transfer receipts signed with your forged signature, listing Caldwell Shoreline Holdings as the lawful owner of all cargo."
"Perfect," I said, a grim smile touching my lips. "Every document he hands those drivers is another federal wire and mail fraud charge. Let him finish truck number three."
On the monitor, Derek walked back into the center of the lobby, standing on the compass rose inlaid into the marble floor.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, held it up, and snapped a wide-angle selfie with the stripped, empty ballroom behind him.
He typed furiously on his screen, uploading the photo to his private social media account with the caption: Taking over the throne. Out with the old, in with the empire.
He looked up at the main lobby ceiling camera, as if sensing my eyes on him through the lens.
He raised two fingers to his forehead, giving the camera a mocking salute, and laughed straight into the microphone.
"Good morning, Richard!" Derek's voice boomed through the speakers in my study. "I hope you slept well! Don't bother coming to work today! Seabrook Haven has a new master, and your retirement starts right now!"
I didn't answer through the lobby speaker.
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I simply clicked my mouse, saving the high-resolution audio-video recording directly to the cloud server shared with the United States District Attorney.
"Enjoy your kingdom for another twenty minutes, Derek," I whispered into the quiet room. "The crown you stole is made of barbed wire."
