Chapter 2 - The Sawmill Fortress
Liam’s truck was an ancient, battered Ford F-150 that rattled like a tin can filled with bolts, yet its engine rumbled with a deep, modified horsepower that suggested serious mechanical modifications beneath the rusty hood.
We drove for over an hour, climbing higher into the jagged, fog-shrouded peaks of the Timberline Ridge, far past the civilization of Fairview where the paved roads gave way to unpaved logging tracks choked with towering pine trees.
I sat in the passenger seat, wrapped in his heavy canvas jacket, clutching my mother’s brass shuttle in my coat pocket. My mind was racing. The glimpse of that phone screen—3 billion confirmed, boss—kept flashing behind my eyelids like lightning.
“You aren't just a lumberjack, are you?” I finally broke the heavy silence as we crossed a rusted steel bridge spanning a roaring mountain river.
Liam kept his eyes fixed on the winding dirt road, his knuckles resting easily on the worn steering wheel. His profile was carved from granite—sharp jawline, a scattering of dark stubble, and an air of absolute, unshakeable calm that didn't belong to a man who lived in an abandoned sawmill.
“What makes you say that, Evelyn?” he asked, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that vibrated through the cab.
“Lumberjacks don't carry secure-encrypted satellite terminals with three-billion-dollar transaction clearances,” I replied, turning my head to study him.
Liam let out a short, humorless chuckle. It wasn't the laugh of a rough mountain hermit; it was the controlled amusement of a man accustomed to pulling the strings behind closed doors.
“People see what they expect to see,” Liam said smoothly, navigating a sharp hairpin turn. “Your stepmother wanted to punish you by marrying you off to the poorest, roughest man in the county. So, I made sure she found one.”
I stared at him, my jaw slightly slack. “You... you set this up? Why would you agree to marry me?”
“Let’s just say,” Liam glanced sideways at me, his dark eyes softening perceptibly, “I’ve been watching the Winthrop textile plant for a very long time. And I’ve been watching how a young woman named Evelyn has kept that sinking ship afloat while her family squandered its legacy.”
Before I could press him further, the truck rounded a final dense cluster of evergreens, and the trees parted to reveal our destination.
It wasn't an abandoned, rotting sawmill as the town gossips whispered.
Nestled against the sheer cliff face of the mountain was a sprawling, ultra-modern architectural fortress constructed of dark cedar, glass, and reinforced steel. It blended seamlessly into the surrounding wilderness, featuring expansive solar arrays, a private helipad hidden beneath retractable forest canopy panels, and a massive, state-of-the-art timber-processing facility equipped with automated robotics.
It was a multi-million-dollar tech-integrated timber complex disguised from the outside world as a decaying relic of the 1970s.
Liam pulled the truck to a stop inside a heated, subterranean garage where two other matte-black SUVs sat gleaming under recessed LED lighting.
He climbed out, walked around to my side, and opened the door, extending a calloused, strong hand to help me down.
“Welcome to the sawmill, Evelyn,” Liam said, a faint, lopsided smile touching his lips.
May you like
As I stepped out of the truck, the heavy steel doors of the garage closed silently behind us, sealing us off from the freezing mountain drizzle. I stood in the center of the subterranean tech hub, realizing with a sudden, dizzying rush that my miserable wedding day wasn't the end of my life.
It was the beginning of a war.
