Chapter 5 - The Miami Trace
Leaving the children under 24-hour private security at the hospital, I boarded a private jet to Miami with Marcus. The transition from the gloomy, rain-slicked streets of my home city to the oppressive, humid heat of Florida felt surreal.
We tracked the burner phone to a high-end marina in Coconut Grove. The sun was setting, painting the sky in bloody shades of orange and purple.
"There's the boat," Marcus whispered, pointing to a sleek, 80-foot yacht named The Siren. "According to harbor records, it’s scheduled to clear customs for the Bahamas in three hours."
We slipped past the marina security. The dock was quiet, save for the lapping of the water against the hulls. We boarded The Siren from the stern, staying in the shadows.
Through the frosted glass of the main cabin, I heard voices.
"I gave you the ledger, Victor! I gave you everything you asked for!" Sarah’s voice was frantic, stripped of all the poise she usually projected.
"The ledger is useless without the encryption keys from David’s server, Sarah," a heavy, accented voice replied. "You promised me full access to the Vance holdings. Instead, you bring me scrap paper and tell me your ex-husband is asking questions."
I pushed the door open.
Sarah gasped, her face draining of what little color it had. She was wearing a silk dress, but her hair was disheveled, her eyes wide with terror. Sitting across from her was Victor Drago, flanked by two large men in linen suits.
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"David," Sarah whispered, taking a step back. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see the woman who left our three-year-old daughter to die of a fever," I said, my voice deadly quiet.
