My Former Husband Smirked After Leaving Me Until A Little Girl Called His Boss Dad

"Call the Sheriff," Julian yelled, already sprinting down the hallway toward the rear stairs. "Marcus, get the game wardens on the line!"

"Julian, wait!" Nora cried, running after him. "You can't go down there alone!"

"Those creeks feed the entire nesting estuary, Nora!" Julian shouted over his shoulder. "If that chemical reaches the tidal basin, fifty thousand birds and every wetland habitat we’ve restored over five years will be dead by noon!"

Julian tore through the mudroom, grabbed the keys to the heavy-duty utility truck parked in the barn, and threw the door open.

Nora didn't argue. She jumped into the passenger seat before he could put the truck into reverse.

"Nora, get out!" Julian ordered, engine roaring to life beneath the hood.

"Drive the truck, Julian!" she yelled back, slamming her door and clicking her seatbelt. "You need a spotter, and you’re not facing Arthur’s mercenaries by yourself!"

Julian cursed under his breath, slammed his foot on the accelerator, and the heavy 4x4 tore through the rear gates, gravel spraying against the wheel wells as they raced toward the western perimeter trails.

The morning sun was just breaking over the canopy, casting long, crimson shadows across the winding dirt paths. The tires fought for traction against the slick coastal mud as Julian pushed the vehicle to its limits.

Within six minutes, the smell hit them—a sharp, acrid chemical stench that burned their throats and made their eyes water.

Up ahead, through a break in the cypress trees, the all-terrain vehicle was idling beside the creek bridge. One large plastic drum had already been tipped over, a thick, milky-white sludge oozing slowly into the clear brackish water.

Standing beside the truck, supervising the two masked men unloading a second barrel, was Arthur Sterling.

He had traded his tailored suit for mud-splattered field boots and a heavy waxed jacket. In his right hand, resting casually against his thigh, was an industrial flare gun.

Julian slammed on the brakes fifty yards away, the truck skidding to a halt in the deep mud.

"Stay in the vehicle," Julian ordered, his voice terrifyingly calm. He reached under the driver’s seat, pulled out a heavy steel tire iron, and kicked his door open.

"Arthur!" Julian’s voice echoed across the swamp like thunder.

Arthur turned slowly, a hideous, triumphant grin spreading across his face. "You’re too late, Julian! Ten gallons of industrial defoliant in this creek, and the state Department of Environmental Quality will condemn this entire six thousand acres by sunset! The sanctuary is finished!"

"Stop the barrels!" Julian roared, charging forward through the knee-high marsh grass toward the bridge.

The two masked men dropped the second barrel and lunged at Julian, brandishing heavy iron pry bars.

The first man swung wildly at Julian’s head. Julian ducked beneath the blow, drove his shoulder into the man’s gut, and threw him over the wooden guardrail into the shallow creek mud. But the second man brought his pry bar down across Julian’s shoulder blade with a sickening crack.

Julian grunted in agony, dropping to one knee in the mud.

"Julian!" Nora screamed.

From the utility truck, Nora saw Arthur raise the heavy flare gun, aiming it directly at Julian’s chest as Julian struggled to rise.

"Say goodbye to your kingdom, Mercer," Arthur snarled, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Nora didn't think. She threw her weight against the driver's side steering column, reached over, slammed the truck into drive, and stomped on the accelerator pedal with both hands on the wheel.