Chapter 9 - The Ghost in the Machine
The Newark Marina was a maze of wooden docks, dripping tarpaulins, and the heavy smell of salt and diesel fuel.
The storm had cleared the area of tourists and casual boaters, leaving only the creaking of hulls against the pilings and the distant, low foghorn of a cargo ship in the bay.
I walked down the main dock, my hood pulled low over my face, my hand clutching the small can of pepper spray I had kept in my pocket since the night I escaped through the laundry-room window.
I checked my phone. The financial tracking app showed the transfer was ninety percent complete. It had a five-minute hold for security verification—a standard AML (Anti-Money Laundering) protocol I had personally installed on the account years ago.
I needed to find the source of the Wi-Fi signal.
I walked toward a sleek, black cabin cruiser docked at the end of the pier. The name painted on the stern was The Easy Life.
A light was on in the cabin.
I stepped onto the wet deck of the boat, my heart pounding in my chest like a trapped bird. The cabin door was unlocked.
I pushed it open slowly.
Derek sat at the small built-in table, a ruggedized laptop open in front of him. He was wearing a dark rain jacket, his face illuminated by the blue light of the screen. Beside the laptop lay a stack of cash and a forged Canadian passport.
He looked up as the door creaked.
His face twisted into a mask of pure, manic desperation.
"Clara," he whispered, standing up. "You shouldn't have come here."
"The transfer is blocked, Derek," I said, holding up my phone. "I just initiated the security freeze. The funds are locked in escrow."
Derek lunged at me, his hands reaching for my throat.
I stepped back, raising my hand, and sprayed the pepper spray directly into his eyes.
He screamed, stumbling backward, his hands flying to his face. He hit the table, knocking the laptop to the floor with a loud, plastic crash.
"You bitch!" he shrieked, thrashing on the floor of the cabin. "You ruined me! You took everything!"
"You did this to yourself, Derek," I said, looking down at him. "My father trusted you. I trusted you. And you sold us out for a luxury life you didn't earn."
The sound of police sirens cut through the roar of the wind and rain outside.
Within minutes, Detective Shaw and three state troopers burst into the cabin, their weapons drawn. They quickly pinned Derek to the floor, pulling his arms behind his back and locking the handcuffs in place.
Shaw looked at me, his face wet with rain, a mixture of relief and anger in his eyes.
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"I told you to stay in the safe house, Clara," he said.
"I had to protect the ledger, Detective," I said, picking up Derek’s fallen laptop. "It’s the only way to make sure everyone gets paid."
