Chapter 7 - The Shredded Paper and the Toy Train
We all spun around.
Standing at the very end of the dock, illuminated only by the harsh yellow security lights of the pier, was Natalie.
She wasn't wearing her ruined evening gown anymore. She was dressed in a sleek black raincoat, a duffel bag slung heavily over her shoulder. And she was holding a flare gun, aimed directly at a massive cluster of highly flammable fuel barrels stacked near the freighter’s loading ramp.
“Natalie?” Arthur choked out, utterly bewildered. “How did you get out of the dining room?”
“Vincent was so busy shouting at his security team about Marcus’s disappearance, he forgot to lock the pantry door,” Natalie called back, a wicked, triumphant smile playing on her lips.
It all clicked into place with horrifying clarity.
Natalie hadn't been Arthur’s pawn. She had played everyone. She had used Daniel’s dramatic entrance to distract Vincent. She had used Arthur’s extortion plot to draw all the security out of the house. And while Marcus and Arthur were arguing in the locker room, she had quietly emptied the real offshore cash from the SUV, swapped it with shredded paper, and taken her son.
“I told you, Arthur,” Natalie shouted over the storm. “I don't share.”
“Where is Leo?!” Daniel roared, surging forward.
Natalie aimed the flare gun squarely at his chest. “Take another step, Daniel, and I’ll burn you alive. Our son is safely stowed on a private vessel that leaves in exactly ten minutes. I’m starting a new life. And thanks to Elena bringing the ledger out of the house for me, I have zero loose ends.”
She pulled a small, silver lighter from her pocket—the same lighter Arthur used for his cigars. She tossed it onto the wet planks.
“Give my regards to Vincent,” Natalie sneered.
She pulled the trigger on the flare gun.
But she didn't shoot Daniel. She shot the fuel barrels.
A massive fireball erupted on the pier, sending a shockwave of heat and concussive force that knocked all of us to the ground. The blast shattered the windows of the SUV and sent Marcus and Arthur scrambling for cover as burning debris rained down on the docks.
By the time I pushed myself up from the mud, ears ringing and coughing on the thick black smoke, Natalie was gone.
“Elena! Are you alright?” Daniel gasped, pulling me to my feet.
“I’m fine,” I coughed, waving the smoke away. “But she has the money. She’s going to get away.”
Daniel dropped to his knees in despair, burying his face in his hands. “She has Leo. I’m never going to see him again.”
I looked around the burning pier, my eyes stinging. Natalie couldn't have run far with a heavy duffel bag and a six-year-old child. She said she had a private vessel leaving in ten minutes.
My eyes caught a glint of red plastic lying near the edge of the boarding ramp.
I walked over and picked it up. It was a small, red toy train engine.
I recognized it instantly. When I had been cleaning the guest wing yesterday, I had found this exact toy tucked under a sofa cushion. I had placed it in the lost-and-found bin near the service entrance. Natalie must have grabbed it to soothe Leo while she dragged him through the rain.
I turned the toy train over. Stamped on the bottom in faded black ink was a logo: Miller’s Point Ferry Terminal.
My uncle’s ferry terminal.
“Daniel, get up!” I shouted, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. “She isn't taking a private yacht! She’s taking the midnight auto-ferry to the mainland! It’s the only vessel big enough to bypass the coast guard storm warnings tonight!”
Daniel’s eyes widened with a sudden spark of hope.
We didn't wait for Arthur or Marcus to recover from the blast. We sprinted away from the burning pier, back through the gardens, and scrambled over the low stone wall of the estate.
“It’s a two-mile run to the terminal!” Daniel shouted as we hit the main road.
“We aren't running,” I said, spotting a familiar faded pickup truck idling near the service gate.
It was my mother.
She had ignored Vincent’s lockdown orders, slipped out through the kitchen, and brought her truck to wait for me.
May you like
We jumped into the cab, soaking wet and gasping for breath. “Mom, drive!” I yelled. “Miller’s Point Ferry! Step on it!”
My mother didn't ask questions. She slammed her foot on the gas, and the old truck roared down the coastal highway.
