Chapter 14 - The Lighthouse Signal
The transfer documents were signed at three in the afternoon.
Victor Hale became interim chairman of Calloway Maritime. He smiled for the cameras and shook Graham’s hand as though they were partners closing an ordinary business deal.
Under the table, Victor had demanded access to an emergency account called Blue Lantern. Graham gave him a digital key. Reed’s team had altered the account so every transfer could be traced.
By sunset, money began moving.
“He’s sending it through three ports,” Daniel reported. “Savannah, Nassau, and Rotterdam.”
“Where is the final destination?” Reed asked.
“A warehouse at Fort Sumter.”
I looked at the map.
“The lighthouse.”
Reed nodded. “Victor wants the old records moved tonight. If he believes Elena has the original ledger, he’ll bring the people he trusts.”
“Dorian,” Graham said.
“And anyone who can testify against him,” Reed added.
The plan placed me on a Coast Guard vessel approaching the island under cover of a routine inspection. Reed’s agents would be nearby, but not visible. Graham would arrive separately aboard a company launch, appearing to deliver the last of the files.
“You are not to leave the vessel,” Reed told me.
“I understand.”
Graham stood beside her. “She will not leave the vessel.”
“I said I understand,” I repeated.
He accepted the correction.
Before departure, Mara pulled me aside.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t. You can let Reed handle it.”
“I spent ten years allowing men to handle everything. I’m not doing that anymore.”
She hugged me. “Come back.”
“You too.”
The water was black beneath the moon. Fort Sumter rose ahead, its broken walls silvered by the floodlights. A faint beam flashed from the lighthouse tower—three short pulses, then one long.
“Signal,” Reed said through the radio.
Graham’s launch appeared beyond the fort.
I watched him stand at the bow, alone except for one pilot. He carried a metal case and wore the same coat he had worn the night we first met. I remembered that evening: rain on the pavement, my architectural drawings spilling from a folder, Graham kneeling to gather them while everyone else hurried past.
I had thought the man who helped me was separate from the man who ruled the harbor.
Perhaps both had been true.
The launch docked. Graham stepped onto the fort.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
Victor.
Behind him stood Dorian Voss and six men. None wore masks.
“You brought the evidence,” Victor called.
“You brought an audience,” Graham replied.
“It seemed appropriate.”
Graham lifted the case. “Where is Elena?”
Victor smiled. “On the boat, I imagine. Watching you sacrifice yourself.”
My pulse jumped.
He knew I was there.
“You used her to force my hand,” Graham said.
“No. You used her to make yourself feel human. I merely removed the illusion.”
Dorian stepped forward. “Open the case.”
Graham set it on the stone and entered the code.
The case opened to reveal drives, papers, and the silver watch.
My breath caught.
He had brought it with him.
“That is not part of the evidence,” Victor said.
“It is mine.”
“Everything you own is about to belong to someone else.”
Victor nodded toward the tower.
“Bring her down.”
Two men approached the lighthouse stairs.
I was not inside the tower, but the signal had come from there. Someone else was on the island.
Reed spoke into the radio. “Hold position.”
“They know we’re here,” I whispered.
The Coast Guard captain glanced at the radar. “We have incoming vessels.”
Three dark boats emerged from the western channel.
Dorian had not brought six men. He had brought an army.
On the fort, Graham looked toward the water. Even at that distance, I saw him understand.
He picked up the watch and hurled it against the stone wall.
The case’s metal latch snapped, scattering evidence across the ground.
Victor shouted, “What are you doing?”
Graham answered loudly enough for the radio to catch it.
“I’m done being useful to men who think my wife is property.”
Then he turned toward the lighthouse and fired a single shot into the lock of the tower door.
The door opened.
A woman stumbled out.
She had dark hair, a bruised face, and Claire Calloway’s eyes.
Graham stared at her.
“Sophie,” he breathed.
May you like
Victor had lied about Claire’s daughter being safe in Maine.
She had been missing for six years.
