Chapter 5 - THE ISLAND OF LIES
The tender bounced violently over the dark swells of the Atlantic.
I huddled in the back, holding Junie tight against my chest to share my body heat. The cold wind bit through our wet clothes. Emily steered the small boat with expert precision, her eyes fixed on the digital GPS glowing green on the console.
“Where are we going?” I yelled over the roar of the outboard motor.
“There’s a small airstrip on a private island twenty miles east of here,” Emily shouted back without turning around. “A contact of mine is waiting with a plane.”
“A contact? Emily, you’ve been dead for two years! Who have you been talking to?”
Emily finally looked back at me. The glow of the dashboard illuminated her face. She looked exhausted, haunted, but undeniably strong.
“The FBI, Adrian.”
I stared at her, stunned. “The FBI?”
She nodded, turning her attention back to the waves. “After the crash, the paramedics pulled me out of the wreckage. I was in a coma for three weeks. When I woke up, a federal agent was sitting by my bed. He told me the crash wasn't an accident. He told me Matthew was laundering money for a cartel, and he used Brooks Innovations to do it.”
The pieces of the nightmare suddenly clicked into place.
My brother hadn't just made bad investments. He had gotten in bed with the cartel. When he couldn't pay them back, he tried to steal my half of the company to cover his debts.
“They couldn't protect you and Junie if Matthew knew I was alive,” Emily continued, her voice breaking. “The FBI faked my death to build a case against him and his cartel contacts. I had to let you mourn. I had to watch from a distance while you cried at my grave. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
I tightened my grip on Junie. “You let me marry Corinne?”
“I didn't know about Corinne until it was too late!” Emily cried, wiping a tear from her wind-chapped cheek. “She was a ghost. She had no criminal record. But when she insisted on bringing Junie on this yacht trip, the FBI intercepted a wire transfer from Matthew to her. That’s when we realized she was Elias’s sister.”
Junie stirred in my arms. “Mommy,” she whispered. “Are we going home?”
Emily reached back and gently squeezed Junie’s foot. “Yes, my brave girl. We’re finally going home.”
An hour later, the dark silhouette of an island appeared on the horizon. A single, blinking red light marked the edge of an old, cracked asphalt runway.
Emily guided the tender into a small hidden cove and cut the engine. We dragged the boat onto the sandy beach.
“The plane is just through those trees,” Emily said, leading the way with a small flashlight.
We rushed through the dense tropical foliage. My legs ached, my clothes were soaked, but for the first time in two years, I felt whole. My family was alive.
We burst through the tree line onto the edge of the airstrip.
A twin-engine Cessna was waiting on the tarmac, its propellers slowly turning.
A man in a dark suit stood by the stairs, holding a clipboard.
“Agent Harris,” Emily called out in relief, running toward him. “We have them. Matthew went overboard. We need to leave now.”
The man turned around.
The moonlight hit his face.
It wasn't an FBI agent.
It was Elias.
The man who had killed Emily two years ago. The man Corinne claimed was paralyzed in a prison hospital.
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He smiled, pulling a heavy revolver from inside his suit jacket.
“Hello, Emily,” Elias said smoothly. “Your FBI friend couldn't make it. But don't worry. I’m happy to give you a lift.”
