Chapter 12 - Blood in the Water
Z
The rain beat down relentlessly, soaking through my sweater in seconds, but I barely felt the cold. Every fiber of my being was hyper-focused on the three figures standing beneath the flickering floodlight at the end of the pier.
As I drew closer, I could see Evan clearly. His mouth was covered with heavy gray duct tape, his knuckles were bloody, and his clothes were torn, but his eyes widened with frantic, terrified warning the moment he saw me. He shook his head violently, trying to scream through the tape: Go back! Run!
Standing behind him was Carter Vance. He was in his early nineties, remarkably handsome with sharp, aristocratic features that bore a terrifying resemblance to his sister Victoria, but his eyes were completely dead—void of empathy, warmth, or human conscience.
"Punctual. I like that in a domestic worker," Carter called out over the roaring wind and crashing waves, his voice amplified by a portable megaphone. "Step onto the platform, Bailey. Keep your hands where I can see them."
I stopped ten feet away, my feet planted firmly on the slippery planking. "I'm here, Carter. Let Evan go."
Carter let out a soft, amused laugh, lowering the megaphone. He held a sleek, leather-bound document folder under his arm, shielded from the rain by his heavy umbrella. "Direct. Just like your mother. Eleanor was a stubborn woman, you know. If she had taken my father’s money fifteen years ago, none of us would be standing in a thunderstorm tonight."
"My mother had integrity," I spat back, wiping the rain from my eyes. "Something your family couldn't buy with all the money in Chicago. Where is the claim form?"
Carter smiled, sliding a thick legal document from his folder and holding a pen toward me. "Right here. A formal fraud claim against Meridian Global, naming Eleanor Carter as the victim and you as the sole surviving heir. The moment your signature hits this paper, 1.2 billion dollars drops into my escrow account. And in exchange, you and your darling brother walk away."
"You're lying," I said, my voice steady against the howling gale. "The moment I sign that paper, you throw us both off this pier. You can't afford to leave witnesses who know about your illegal Cayman accounts."
Carter’s smile slowly faded, replaced by an icy, ruthless stillness. "You're smarter than Julian gave you credit for. He thought you were just an opportunistic janitor. But you have real spine, don't you?"
He casually reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek, suppressed 9mm pistol, aiming it directly at my chest.
"Sign the document, Bailey," Carter said softly. "Or I put a bullet through your brother's knee right now, and then we watch him drown together."
Evan thrashed wildly against his captors, his muffled screams swallowed by the storm.
My heart hammered in my throat. I looked toward the dark outline of the boathouse thirty yards behind me. I knew Thomas and his security team were positioned in the shadows, but in this blinding rain and wind, a sniper shot was nearly impossible, and a tactical rush would take at least ten seconds—more than enough time for Carter to pull the trigger.
I had to buy time. I had to use the only weapon I had left: clinical knowledge.
"Look at your hands, Carter," I called out suddenly, pointing at his right arm.
Carter frowned, his eyes instinctively flickering down to his hand holding the gun. "What?"
"Your hand is tremors," I shouted over the wind. "The muscle fasciculations in your index finger. The slight ptosis in your left eyelid. You've been taking Vasocure yourself, haven't you?"
Carter froze, his gun hand wavering for a fraction of a second. "Shut up."
"It was designed as an anti-plaque cardiac therapy, but your family's secret trials proved it crosses the blood-brain barrier," I pressed forward, taking a small step closer, using my voice like a scalpel. "It causes progressive neurological degeneration. Motor ataxia. Micro-strokes. You don't have years to enjoy that billion dollars, Carter. You have months. Maybe weeks before the cerebral hypoxia sets in."
"I said shut your mouth!" Carter roared, his composure cracking into wild, paranoid rage. The gun trembled visibly in his grip as the psychological blow landed with devastating accuracy.
That split-second distraction was all Thomas needed.
A loud, sharp BANG echoed from the boathouse roof as a high-powered rifle round slammed directly into the shoulder of the guard holding Evan. The guard shrieked, letting go of Evan as he collapsed onto the wooden planks.
"Move!" I screamed.
Everything erupted into violent chaos.
The second guard drew a weapon, but Thomas’s men swarmed the dock, muzzle flashes strobing through the blinding rain like lightning strikes. Evan used all his weight to slam his shoulder into Carter Vance, knocking the gunman off balance.
Carter stumbled backward, his gun firing wildly into the air before he slammed hard against the wooden guardrail. The legal folder flew from his hands, its pages catching the wind and scattering across the dark, churning lake like white sea gulls.
"Evan!" I rushed forward, sliding across the wet wood, throwing my body over my brother as bullets whined through the air overhead. I pulled a pair of trauma shears from my medical satchel and sliced through the industrial zip-ties binding his wrists.
Evan ripped the duct tape from his mouth, coughing violently. "Bailey! Look out!"
I snapped my head around just in time to see Carter Vance pulling himself up from the railing, his face contorted into a mask of pure madness, his suppressed pistol aimed directly at my face.
"If I don't get the money, nobody gets the story!" Carter screamed.
Before he could pull the trigger, a dark figure stepped out of the rain directly between Carter's gun and me.
It was Lucas Bennett.
A sharp THWACK sounded through the storm.
Lucas gasped, his body jerking violently as the bullet tore straight into his upper left chest. He collapsed backward into my arms, his blood pouring out onto the wet wooden planks, mixing with the falling rain.
"MR. BENNETT!" I shrieked.
May you like
Thomas tackled Carter Vance over the wooden railing, both men plunging off the edge of the pier and crashing into the freezing, turbulent waters of Lake Michigan below.
I sank to my knees on the wooden dock, surrounded by the flashing red lights of approaching emergency vehicles, cradling Lucas Bennett's head in my lap as his lifeblood crimsoned my hands for the second time.
