The Billionaire Heir Called It a Romantic Mountain Trip Until My Psychic Grandmother Told Me to Ask Why His Cabin Was Booked for Three

“You’re going to prison, Julian,” I said, my voice cutting through the roar of the wind and the crashing waves of the lake. I stood my ground, my fingers gripping the river stone in my pocket so hard my knuckles turned white. “The call didn't drop. My grandmother heard every single word you said in that cabin.”

Julian stopped dead in his tracks. A flicker of genuine panic crossed his face before he forced a cruel, dismissive smirk.

“Your grandmother is an old woman living in a shack ninety miles away,” Julian sneered, raising the hunting knife. “By the time anyone checks on you, you’ll just be another tragic drowning statistic.”

He took another step forward.

Suddenly, from the pitch-black tree line behind Julian and Victoria, a sound cut through the storm.

It wasn't the wind.

It was the steady, heavy thrum of a helicopter engine.

A massive, blinding searchlight tore down from the sky above the lake, bathing the entire shoreline in daylight-bright illumination. The downdraft from the chopper blades whipped the pine trees into a violent frenzy, sending a cloud of sleet and frozen debris swirling through the air.

Julian and Victoria threw their hands up, stumbling backward, blinded by the glare.

From the dense brush behind them, a second sound echoed across the clearing—the metallic, authoritative click-clack of shotgun pumps, followed by a voice that made my knees go weak with profound relief.

“Drop the knife, Mr. Sterling,” a deep, gravelly voice commanded over a bullhorn. “State Police! Drop it right now or you’re a dead man!”

Julian whirled around, staring up into the blinding searchlight. The hunting knife slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering uselessly onto the frozen rocks.

Victoria dropped to her knees in the mud, screaming in terror as two heavily armored state troopers rushed out of the dark woods, tackling Julian face-down into the frozen earth and slapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists.

And then, stepping calmly out of the shadows behind the troopers, wrapped in a thick wool coat with her white hair blowing in the helicopter’s fierce downdraft, was Grandma Eleanor.