Chapter 6 - THE GHOST IN THE CABIN
The crackle of the fireplace was the only sound in the cabin. The voice on the other side of the heavy wooden door belonged to Edward.
"How did he find us?" Sarah whispered, her face draining of all color. She pulled Noah closer on the sofa, wrapping her arms around him protectively.
"He couldn't have," Marcus said, his gun raised, his eyes locked on the door. "I swept the taxi for trackers before we left Queens. We took back roads for fifty miles. It's impossible."
I looked at James. He was staring at his own hands, his face pale and drawn in the firelight. He slowly reached into the pocket of his heavy overcoat.
He pulled out the burner phone. The one that had been slipped under his door at the psychiatric facility.
"The phone," James whispered, staring at the cheap plastic device. "The message telling me to run. Edward didn't lose me. He let me escape. He planted a GPS tracker in the phone knowing I would run straight to my family."
"He used you to find us," I said, a sickening wave of realization washing over me.
"Charles," Edward’s voice echoed through the thick wood again. "I know Marcus has a gun. I also have six armed men surrounding this lovely little cabin. If you don't open the door in ten seconds, we'll simply burn it down with all of you inside."
"Don't do it, Dad," James said, raising his revolver. "I'll take him with me."
"No," I said firmly, standing up. "He wants the ledger and the inheritance signature. We still have leverage."
I walked to the door and threw the deadbolt.
I pulled it open.
Edward stood on the porch, looking entirely out of place in his tailored tuxedo amidst the snowy wilderness of the Catskills. He was smiling, a cold, empty smile that didn't reach his eyes. Behind him, standing in the shadows of the pine trees, were several men holding tactical rifles.
"Ah, family reunions," Edward sighed, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He brushed a snowflake from his lapel. "They always bring out such strong emotions."
He looked past me, his eyes settling on James.
"Hello, James," Edward said casually, as if bumping into a nephew at a country club. "You look terrible. Institutional food really doesn't agree with you."
"Go to hell, Edward," James spat, his hand gripping the revolver tightly.
"Already on my way, dear boy," Edward chuckled. He turned his attention back to me. "Now, Charles. The theatrics end here. I have a private jet waiting at Teterboro. I need you to sign the final trust transfer document, and I need Sarah to hand over the ledger."
"And if I refuse?" I asked, standing between him and my family.
Edward pulled a folded piece of paper and an expensive fountain pen from his breast pocket. He laid them on the wooden kitchen table.
"If you refuse," Edward said, dropping the smile entirely, "my men will execute James, Sarah, and the boy. Then, they will shoot you. I will tell the board you had a tragic mental breakdown, murdered the family you hallucinated, and took your own life. With you gone, the trust reverts to me anyway. This signature just saves me a month of annoying probate court."
He tapped the paper. "Sign it, Charles. And hand over the ledger. If you do, I'll let the boy and the woman live."
"He's lying," Sarah said fiercely from the sofa. "He can't leave witnesses."
"She's right, Edward," I said, staring into my brother's eyes. "You’ve crossed a line you can't walk back from."
Edward sighed dramatically. "Charles, you were always so stubborn. Do you know how exhausting it's been playing the loyal brother for forty years? Watching you build an empire while I managed the scraps?"
"I gave you everything!" I yelled, my voice echoing off the cabin walls. "You were my partner!"
"I was your employee!" Edward snapped back, his aristocratic veneer finally cracking, revealing the ugly, festering jealousy underneath. "Dad loved you more. The board loved you more. I was just the accountant. So yes, I took my cut. I laundered money for the cartel because it was the only way I could build something of my own."
He pointed a finger at James. "And I would have gotten away with it if this little rat hadn't started snooping in my files twenty-two years ago."
Edward looked at his expensive watch. "I'm bored with this. Sign the paper, Charles. Or my men open fire."
I looked at the transfer document on the table. If I signed it, I gave him total control of my billions.
"Dad, don't," James pleaded.
I picked up the fountain pen. My hand shook as I pressed the gold nib to the paper. I wrote my signature on the bottom line, sealing away everything I had spent forty years building.
Edward smiled, picking up the paper and blowing on the ink to dry it.
"Excellent," he said. "Now. The ledger."
Sarah slowly stood up from the sofa. She reached into her coat and pulled out the thick leather notebook. She walked toward the table, her eyes locked on Edward.
She held the ledger out.
But as Edward reached for it, Sarah didn't let go.
Instead, she flipped the cover open.
"You should really check the dates on your accounting, Edward," Sarah whispered, her eyes burning with a sudden, fierce intelligence.
Edward frowned, looking down at the open page.
It wasn't a ledger of offshore bank accounts. It wasn't a list of cartel bribes.
The page was covered in childish crayon drawings of superheroes and racecars.
It was Noah's sketchbook.
Edward’s face went completely pale. "What is this?"
"It's a distraction," a new voice boomed from the doorway.
Everyone spun around.
Standing on the porch, holding a massive, 12-gauge shotgun aimed directly at Edward’s chest, was David Vance.
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And standing behind the lawyer, their tactical rifles lowered to the ground in surrender, were Edward’s six mercenaries.
"Drop the paper, Edward," Vance ordered, stepping into the cabin, cocking the shotgun with a deafening clack. "Or I'll blow you in half right now."
