Chapter 5 - The Harbor Between Us
My father’s death had always been explained as a boating accident.
The official report said his small fishing vessel had struck a submerged piling during a storm. His body was found three days later near Sullivan’s Island. My mother had accepted the report because grief had left her too exhausted to fight it.
I had been twelve.
Graham had been twenty-two, already working for his father at the docks.
I carried the ledger to Vivian’s office in a plain canvas bag. She read it without speaking, turning each page beneath a green-shaded lamp.
The entries were written in initials and numbers, but several names were clear. Dorian Voss. Malcolm Calloway, Graham’s father. And Thomas Calloway, my father.
“Your father worked for Graham’s father,” Vivian said.
“As an accountant.”
“He was more than that.”
The ledger described shipments diverted from legitimate manifests, bribes paid to inspectors, and properties purchased through anonymous companies. My father’s initials appeared beside several entries marked with a black star.
“What does the star mean?” I asked.
“We’ll need a forensic accountant.”
“Can you tell whether the handwriting is his?”
“It appears to be.”
The door opened, and Graham entered without knocking.
Vivian closed the ledger.
“You’re not welcome in every room I enter,” I said.
“This is my building.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
His gaze dropped to the canvas bag. “Where did you find it?”
“You know what it is.”
He looked at Vivian. “How much has she shown you?”
“Enough to know you’ve been hiding something,” I said.
Graham shut the door behind him. “You shouldn’t have opened that wall.”
“You knew it was there.”
“I knew there were records.”
“You knew my father’s name was in them.”
His silence was an admission.
I stood. “What happened to my father?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were there the night he died.”
“I was at the docks.”
“According to whom?”
“According to me.”
“You were twenty-two. Your father controlled half the harbor. Dorian Voss was already fighting him. My father was keeping their books. And you expect me to believe you remember nothing?”
Pain flashed across Graham’s face, quickly buried beneath anger.
“I remember finding your father’s boat empty.”
“You never told me that.”
“You were a child.”
“I was his daughter.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
He looked at the ledger. “From the truth.”
“That is not protection. That is theft.”
Graham reached for the canvas bag, but I pulled it away.
“Don’t.”
His hand stopped in midair.
“You think I’m going to hurt you?” he asked.
“I think you’re going to decide what happens to the evidence.”
Vivian rose between us. “Mr. Calloway, leave.”
Graham’s eyes stayed on me. “Dorian is searching for that ledger.”
“Why?”
“Because it proves what his organization did before he took control.”
“It proves what your organization did too.”
“Yes.”
The word was so quiet that it shook me more than denial would have.
“Then why are you still running it?”
He did not answer.
I took the ledger and left with Vivian.
That evening, Graham called six times. I answered on the seventh.
“What?”
“Come home.”
“No.”
“Elena, please.”
I had not heard him say please in years.
“Tell me the truth over the phone.”
“I can’t.”
“Then we have nothing to discuss.”
“Someone is watching your mother’s house.”
I froze.
My mother lived in a quiet neighborhood outside Mount Pleasant. She knew Graham was dangerous but believed distance made her safe.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. I sent a car.”
“You sent men to my mother?”
“To protect her.”
“If they frighten her, I’ll never forgive you.”
“If I hadn’t sent them, you might be planning her funeral.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
For one terrible second, I heard the man beneath the boss.
Then a sound came through the phone—a muffled struggle, followed by Graham saying, “Get down!”
The line went dead.
I called back. No answer.
Another call came immediately.
The voice on the other end was unfamiliar.
“Mrs. Calloway,” the man said, “your husband has something that belongs to us.”
May you like
“What?”
“You.”
