Chapter 3 - THE SECRET UNDER THE FLOORBOARDS
Nora did not remember deciding to run.
One second she was standing ankle-deep in black water beneath the shop.
The next, she was moving through the storm culvert with Adrian behind her, Charles and Grant following.
"What did my father hide?"
Her voice bounced off concrete.
Charles had no answer.
Nora turned while still walking.
"You knew they were looking for something."
"I knew Victor believed David copied records."
"That's not what I asked."
Charles's breathing was heavier now.
"I never knew whether the copies existed."
"And you didn't think that information mattered twelve years ago?"
"I was a coward twelve years ago."
Nora laughed bitterly.
"Finally, something we agree on."
The tunnel narrowed.
They emerged behind a retaining wall fifty yards down the shoreline, hidden from the house by abandoned crab sheds and stacked lobster traps.
Rain slapped the harbor.
Nora pointed toward a covered dry dock.
"That way."
Grant glanced toward the road.
"Vehicles are searching the western entrance."
"Then don't use the road."
Nora led them inside the old dry dock.
A thirty-two-foot wooden fishing boat sat beneath a canvas cover.
The faded name on its stern read MERCY ANNE.
Adrian looked at Nora.
"Yours?"
"My father's."
She had not launched it since the year he died.
Nora climbed aboard and opened the wheelhouse.
Everything smelled like dust, cedar, old oil, and memory.
Charles stopped at the stern.
For the first time since arriving, real emotion crossed his face.
"He loved this boat."
Nora turned sharply.
"You don't get to reminisce."
Charles lowered his gaze.
Adrian moved beside Nora.
"What are we looking for?"
"I don't know."
"The people at the house seemed convinced your father hid evidence."
"My father hid tools from me because I kept losing them. He hid birthday presents in engine housings. Once he hid my report card inside a carburetor because he said no criminal would ever search there."
Adrian almost smiled.
Nora did not.
Then she remembered something.
A winter evening.
She had been sixteen.
Her father kneeling beneath the cabin floor with a drill.
"What are you doing?"
"Fixing something that should've been fixed years ago."
"What?"
"Insurance."
She had laughed because she'd thought he meant water damage.
Nora moved instantly.
"What is it?" Adrian asked.
She dropped to her knees near the captain's chair.
The floorboards looked ordinary.
But one screw head was different.
Newer.
Stainless steel instead of brass.
Nora grabbed a screwdriver.
Her hands shook.
Adrian knelt beside her despite his injuries.
"You okay?"
"No."
It was the first honest answer she'd given him.
She removed six screws.
The board came free.
Beneath it was insulation.
Then fiberglass.
Nothing.
Nora's shoulders sank.
Charles stood behind them.
"Try the support beam."
Nora turned.
"Why?"
Charles pointed.
"David designed compartments inside hollow braces. He did it on racing boats."
Nora stared at him.
She hated that he knew that.
She hated more that he was right.
She knocked along the beam.
Solid.
Solid.
Hollow.
Nora froze.
Adrian found a small pry bar.
Together they removed a narrow wooden panel.
Behind it sat a sealed metal cylinder wrapped in plastic.
Nobody spoke.
Nora reached in.
The cylinder was heavier than expected.
Stamped across the top were three letters.
N.B.B.
Nora Bennett's initials.
Her breath caught.
She opened it.
Inside was a waterproof notebook, two old flash drives, a key, several photographs, and a folded envelope.
Written across the front:
FOR NORA. ONLY IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ME.
Her hands stopped working.
Adrian quietly stepped away.
Nora opened the letter.
Kiddo,
If you're reading this, I failed to get home.
I need you to understand something before anything else.
I did not leave you.
I did not run.
And whatever anyone tells you, I did not die because I got careless with a boat.
Nora covered her mouth.
The words blurred.
She forced herself to continue.
There are men using Grayhaven Harbor for things no decent person should ever be part of. I found records. Names. Dates. Containers. Money transfers.
One of those men is Victor Cole.
Charles Cole says he wants to help me.
I don't know whether I believe him.
Charles flinched as Nora read that sentence aloud.
The next line was worse.
If Charles protects his family instead of the truth, people may die because of it.
Nora looked at him.
Charles said nothing.
The letter continued.
There is another man I fear more than Victor.
Daniel Mercer.
If Mercer is alive, don't trust anyone who says he disappeared.
He doesn't disappear.
He makes other people disappear.
The final paragraph was written darker, as if her father had pressed the pen harder.
Nora, I know you.
You're going to want to finish whatever I started.
Don't.
Live.
Build things.
Fix things.
Laugh too loud.
Fall in love with somebody who makes you forget to check the tide.
I love you more than this harbor, and you know that's saying something.
Dad.
Nora lowered the letter.
Rain hammered the roof.
No one said anything.
Then Adrian spoke softly.
"I'm sorry."
Nora wiped her face angrily.
"For what?"
"For showing up here and dragging this back into your life."
She laughed without humor.
"You didn't drag anything back. It never left."
Grant was examining the notebook.
"These are container numbers."
Charles leaned closer.
"And payment codes."
Adrian opened one of the flash drives using an old laptop aboard the boat.
Password protected.
He tried David Bennett's initials.
Nothing.
Nora looked at the key.
Small.
Brass.
Stamped 314.
"Locker?"
"Could be."
Charles took one look at it.
His face changed.
Adrian noticed.
"You know."
Charles nodded.
"Cole Harbor used to have private document vaults beneath Terminal Three."
Nora held up the key.
"Locker 314."
"Probably."
"What's inside?"
"If David put something there, Victor never found it."
Grant checked his phone.
"No signal."
Nora looked toward the harbor.
"We can reach Terminal Three by water."
Charles shook his head.
"The entire Cole waterfront will be watched."
"Roads will be watched harder."
Adrian stood.
"She's right."
Charles looked at his injured son.
"You can barely stand."
"And you can barely tell the truth. Somehow we're both operating."
Nora almost smiled despite herself.
Twenty minutes later, the Mercy Anne touched water for the first time in twelve years.
The diesel coughed.
Then roared to life.
Nora gripped the wheel.
For one strange second, she was seventeen again, her father standing behind her and pretending not to be terrified when she brought the boat through rough water too fast.
Then headlights appeared across the harbor.
Nora pushed the throttle.
The Mercy Anne moved into darkness.
Terminal Three sat two miles north.
They approached without running lights.
Cole Harbor rose ahead of them like a private city—cranes, warehouses, stacked containers, security towers.
Nora cut the engine beneath an abandoned loading pier.
Grant climbed first.
They entered through a maintenance door Charles still knew how to open.
The private vault level had not been used in years.
Dust coated everything.
Locker 314 stood at the far end.
Nora inserted the key.
It turned.
Inside sat a single black case.
Adrian opened it.
Documents.
Photographs.
A compact video camera.
And a second envelope.
Charles picked up one photograph.
His knees nearly gave way.
Adrian caught his arm.
"What?"
Charles handed him the image.
It showed Victor Cole standing on a dock twelve years earlier.
Beside him was Daniel Mercer.
And behind them—
Charles Cole.
Nora took the photograph.
All three men were looking toward David Bennett's boat.
The timestamp read 11:48 p.m.
Her father died at 12:17.
Nora looked at Charles.
"You were there."
Charles's face collapsed.
"Nora—"
"You were there when they killed him."
"I left."
"You were there."
"I didn't know what Victor was going to do."
"You're lying!"
Her voice echoed through the vault.
Charles stepped backward.
"I knew they were going to scare him."
"Scare him?"
"I thought Victor would threaten him into silence."
"My father was blown apart thirty minutes later!"
Adrian stared at his father.
"You've been lying to both of us."
Charles seemed unable to speak.
Then a slow clap came from the corridor.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Everyone turned.
A man stood in the doorway.
He was thin, perhaps sixty, wearing a dark raincoat and black gloves.
Nora had never seen him before.
Charles had.
The blood drained completely from his face.
"No."
The stranger smiled.
Adrian raised Grant's spare pistol.
"Who are you?"
The man ignored him.
His eyes remained fixed on Nora.
"You look exactly like David."
Nora knew before anyone said the name.
Daniel Mercer stepped into the vault.
The supposedly vanished man connected to her father's murder was alive.
And he wasn't alone.
A dozen armed men filled the corridor behind him.
Mercer smiled at Nora.
"Your father made me wait twelve years for that case."
Then his gaze moved to Charles.
"And you, Charlie, have made me wait even longer for something else."
Charles whispered, "Victor sent you."
Mercer's smile widened.
"No."
May you like
He lifted his pistol.
"Victor works for me."
