Chapter 16 - Midnight on the Pier
The boat bumped softly against the wooden pilings of our pier. Through the binoculars, Evan tracked three figures dressed in dark tactical gear stepping onto the dock with crowbars and lockpicks in hand.
Leading them was Arthur Sterling’s chief investigator, a disgraced former police detective named Frank Vance. Vance was Eleanor’s favorite fixer—the man she used whenever family members needed to be intimidated or documents needed to disappear.
Behind them, stumbling along the pathway from the orchard, was Julian.
"Look at him," Evan whispered, disgust dripping from his tone. "He sneaked out the cottage window. He’s leading them straight to the boathouse."
"He thinks he’s earning his freedom," I murmured, watching my brother’s frantic gestures. Julian was pointing directly at the boathouse doors, whispering urgently to Vance.
Inside the boathouse, Vance used a crowbar to pry open the heavy padlock on the floor storage compartment. The clanking of metal on wood echoed across the silent cove.
"They're taking the box," Evan said, monitoring the video feed on his phone. "Vance has the lid open. He’s looking inside."
On the small screen, we watched Vance pull out the laminated card. Even in black-and-white night vision, his sudden realization was unmistakable. His head snapped toward the small lens of the camera mounted inside the rafters.
*Click.*
Suddenly, four massive, blinding halogen floodlights erupted around the perimeter of the pier, turning midnight into midday.
Sirens wailed from behind the tree line as two County Sheriff patrol boats surged out from behind the neighboring point, blue and red emergency strobes slashing through the mist. Over the loudhailer, Sheriff Miller’s booming voice rolled across the bay:
"State Police! Step away from the structure and put your hands on your heads! You are trespassing on private property and committing felony breaking and entering! Do not move!"
Vance dropped the tackle box. It clattered against the pier planks. The other two men immediately fell to their knees with their hands raised. But Julian panicked. He let out a terrified screech, spun on his heel, and sprinted down the narrow dock toward the shoreline.
"Julian, stop!" Evan yelled, stepping out onto the lawn with a tactical flashlight.
Julian didn't stop. In his blind panic, his boot caught on an unmoored cleat. He stumbled, arms windmilling through the cold air, and plunged headfirst into the eight-foot-deep freezing lake water.
"Man overboard!" one of the deputies shouted.
Evan didn't hesitate. Without stripping his boots or jacket, my husband sprinted down the lawn, vaulted off the edge of the dock, and dived into the black water.
I ran to the pier as the deputies pinned Vance to the ground. Seconds later, Evan breached the surface, gasping for air, hauling a sputtering, choking Julian by his collar. Evan swam with powerful strokes toward the ladder, shoving my soaking, weeping brother up onto the wooden deck before hauling himself out.
Julian lay on the planks, vomiting lake water, shivering violently. "Sarah... Sarah, I’m sorry... she said she was going to take everything... she said she’d put me in prison..."
I knelt beside him, looking down at the shivering wreck of my mother’s favorite pawn.
"You chose your side, Julian," I said softly, my voice devoid of anger, left only with an infinite, sorrowful finality. "And you chose poorly."
Sheriff Miller walked over, his sidearm holstered, clicking a pair of stainless steel handcuffs around Vance’s wrists. "Well, Mrs. Bennett. It looks like you've caught yourself some very expensive rats."
"Not the big rat, Sheriff," I replied, pointing toward Vance’s satellite phone lying on the wood, which was currently buzzing with an incoming FaceTime call from *Eleanor Montgomery*. "That one is still waiting for the good news in Manhattan."
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I picked up the vibrating phone and swiped the green icon.
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