Chapter 31 - The Floorboards of Winnipesaukee
The boathouse smelled of rotting cedar, stagnant lake water, and high-octane outboard fuel.
Khloe and I crawled beneath the raised exterior dock, our boots sinking into the freezing, moss-covered mud along the shoreline. Sleet drifted down between the floorboard slats, speckling our hair with ice. Above us, heavy boot steps echoed across the timber.
"Where is she?" Anthony’s voice echoed down through the cracks, deep, resonant, and dripping with impatience. "She had until noon. Victor, check the road."
"Town car just pulled up by the tree line, boss," a gruff voice responded from the boathouse entrance. "It's Catherine. She's alone... wait. She's carrying a bundle."
Beneath the dock, Khloe squeezed my hand. Her pulse was racing, but her grip was like an iron clamp. Nathan made a small snuffling noise against her chest; Khloe instantly pressed her lips against his forehead, rocking him silently in the pitch-black crawlspace.
Above us, the massive sliding wooden doors of the boathouse groaned open.
A burst of freezing wind swept through the structure. I peered up through a two-inch gap between the dock planks.
Isabella was still tied to the chair suspended from the ceiling hoist. Her face was bruised purple, her lips blue from the damp cold. When the doors opened, her eyelids fluttered, tracking the lone figure limping through the threshold.
"Catherine..." Isabella croaked, her voice barely audible. "Don't... don't give him..."
Catherine walked into the center of the boathouse, cradling the decoy bundle against her bloodied coat. She stopped ten feet from Anthony, who stood flanked by a burly man in tactical gear holding an MPX submachine gun.
"I brought your heir, Anthony," Catherine said, her voice trembling with synthetic pride. "Just like you asked."
Anthony smiled—a brilliant, sociopathic smile that belonged on a corporate billboard. He wore a pristine gray cashmere turtleneck, utterly unbothered by the bitter cold.
"I knew you were pragmatic, my dear," Anthony purred, taking two slow steps toward her. "Where are Mark and Khloe? Dead in a ditch in Massachusetts, I presume?"
"They're gone," Catherine lied, her eyes darting toward the hoist rope tied to the support pillar beside Anthony. "Now let Isabella go. Lower the chair, cut her loose, and give me the access codes to the Swiss depository."
Anthony chuckled—a dry, rattling sound that made my skin crawl.
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"You always were remarkably stupid, Catherine," Anthony said softly. He pulled a silver pen from his pocket, clicked it once, and nodded to the guard.
Before Catherine could react, the guard raised his weapon and fired a burst of suppressed rounds into her chest.
