Chapter 35 - Crossing the Black Water
The Atlantic was a churning pit of black glass and white foam.
The twin-engine storm tender sliced through the swells like an obsidian blade, spray crashing over the low-profile windshield. Julian was at the helm, his face illuminated only by the faint green glow of the infrared navigation radar.
Behind us, Harbor House shrank into the misty coastline, its golden amber windows standing like a fortress against the tempest. Ahead, the Black Shoal lighthouse towered out of the jagged rocks, an ominous finger of granite cutting into the thunderous clouds.
"Wind speed thirty-five knots," Julian spoke through the comms. "He’s got searchlights scanning the main dock. I’m dropping you at the southern tide shelf where the surge breaks. You’ll have to climb the emergency maintenance ladder."
"Understood," I said, pulling a dark waterproof slicker over the brilliant white dress. The cold air stung my cheeks, tasting of salt, brine, and impending violence.
"Serena," Clara’s voice crackled into my earbud through the static of the storm. "I’m in the lighthouse’s electrical grid. Daniel tapped into the emergency marine generator. But there’s an anomaly... there’s an active satellite uplink running on a commercial broadcasting band. A private server with hundreds of encrypted viewers."
My jaw tightened. "He’s livestreaming it."
"To whom?" Julian growled, throttling down as we entered the turbulent shadow of the reef's outer rocks.
"To the syndicate," I answered, the realization hitting me with total clarity. "Daniel owes seventy million to the black-market financiers who backed Marcus Kane. He promised them a show. He promised them he would break me, force me to decrypt the funds on camera, and then execute me to prove he’s still the apex predator they invested in."
"Then we rewrite the script," Julian muttered, maneuvering the boat against the moss-covered granite shelf. The swell lifted us five feet, slamming the hull with a dull thud.
"Go," he ordered, his eyes locked on mine. "I’m circling behind the reef to neutralize his extraction boat. Don't engage him until I hit the lower generator. When the lights flicker, Serena—that is your window."
May you like
I didn't hesitate. I dropped the slicker, stepped onto the wet, slick gunwale in my bare feet—having abandoned my heels—and leaped onto the granite shelf.
The white silk dress instantly caught the rain, sticking to my skin like ice, but I didn't feel the cold. I gripped the iron rungs of the rusted maintenance ladder and began climbing toward the dark silhouette of the lighthouse door.
