Chapter 135 - The Extraction on the Ice
A dull rumble vibrated beneath their feet. It was not the helicopter; it was the heavy tread of tactical tracked vehicles grinding across the frozen causeway from the Canadian side. Headlights—harsh, halogen, and relentless—cut through the tree line along the shoreline.
"They're coming across the ice shelf," Sterling said, peering through a cracked timber siding. "Snowcats. Tactical response units. We have less than three minutes before the boathouse is breached."
Arthur didn't panic. He moved with the precision of a man who had choreographed every second of this evening over the course of a decade. He walked to the back corner of the boathouse where an old wooden marine railway dipped down into the frozen slip. Beneath a heavy tarp covered in rotted hemp rope lay an amphibious tracked sled, its twin steel runners fitted with a turbocharged marine engine.
"Get Maya in," Arthur ordered.
"Wait!" Eleanor shrieked, crawling forward on her hands and knees across the icy planks, totally devoid of the aristocratic poise she had guarded her entire life. She grabbed Emma's boot, sobbing hysterically. "Emma! Please! You can't leave me here! Look at me! I’m your mother! Everything I did was for you—to make you strong! To protect the family!"
Emma looked down at the woman at her feet. She remembered every holiday ruined, every cold glance across the dining table, every cutting remark about her weight, her clothes, her choice of career, and finally, the cruel venom aimed at little Maya when she had accidentally dropped a porcelain plate on Christmas evening: *'She is nothing but a worthless burden, Emma, just like you.'*
Emma pulled her foot free from Eleanor’s grasp.
"You aren't a mother, Eleanor," Emma said, her voice steady and clear as an arctic bell. "You're just an old woman who chose money over blood, and now you have neither."
"Arthur! Arthur, please!" Eleanor wailed, turning her tear-streaked face toward her former husband. "You loved me once! For God's sake, we built Vance Manor together!"
"And you can stay in it," Arthur said without turning back. "Or in whatever federal cell they assign you to when the forensic accountants finish digging up the orchard."
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Sterling lifted Maya into the padded passenger compartment of the sled, buckling her tightly into the heavy five-point harness. Maya clutched her small winter coat close to her chest, her eyes wide as she watched her mother climb in beside her. Emma pulled Maya into her arms, wrapping her entire body around her daughter as Arthur engaged the sled's starter.
The engine roared to life with a deafening, twin-stroke whine that shook the boathouse timbers.
