Chapter 2 - The Mourning Murders
By dawn, the news had hit every major television network in Maryland and Virginia.
I sat in a hidden, windowless basement apartment beneath a dry-dock repair shop in the industrial district of South Baltimore—a property Tobias had secretly purchased five years ago using an untraceable offshore trust.
On the wall-mounted television screen, a news anchor stood before the rain-slicked banks of Savannah Creek. Behind her, heavy crane trucks were hoisting the dripping, mangled wreckage of my black SUV out of the muddy river water.
"A tragic accident on Route 9..." the anchor reported solemn tone. "Rosalind Vance, thirty-one, CEO of Vance Maritime, and her brother Tobias Vance, thirty-one, are presumed dead after their vehicle plunged into Savannah Creek late yesterday afternoon. Her husband, Garrett Vance, managed to escape the sinking vehicle and swimming to shore, but was unable to rescue his wife or her disabled brother..."
The camera cut to Garrett standing on the shore, wrapped in an emergency wool blanket. His face was a masterclass in performative grief—his eyes red-rimmed, his shoulders shaking as he hid his face in his hands. Beside him stood Penelope, wearing a black trench coat, gently patting his back while wiping away a tear of her own.
"Look at him," I whispered, my fingers digging into the edge of the wooden table until my nails bled. "He deserves an Oscar."
"He won't be acting for long," Tobias said, walking into the room carrying a laptop and a pair of industrial radio scanners. He set a hot mug of black tea in front of me—no milk. "The medical examiner in Savannah Creek is expected to issue a preliminary death declaration by noon tomorrow based on the recovery of personal effects from the vehicle."
"Did they find the bodies?" I asked.
"They won't," Tobias replied with a tight smile. "Before I cut your seatbelt, I stuffed two heavy silicone training mannequins dressed in our clothes into the back floorboards, weighted down with lead dive belts. Between the current, the murky water, and the river silt, the dive team assumes the bodies were swept downstream toward the bay. They've already expanded the search perimeter."
"How long do we have before Garrett tries to assume legal control of Vance Maritime?"
"Less than forty-eight hours," Tobias said, opening the laptop screen to reveal a complex network of corporate filings and real-time bank ledger monitoring. "Garrett’s corporate attorney, a corrupt partner at Sterling & Croft named Donald Vance—his uncle—has already scheduled an emergency board meeting for Friday morning. They intend to execute your death benefit clause and transfer your fifty-two percent voting shares to Garrett as your surviving spouse."
"Not if I contest the estate," I said.
"If you reveal you're alive right now, Rosalind, Garrett’s legal team will tie you up in court injunctions while his father’s enforcement team finishes what they started in the river," Tobias warned. "They control the local police chief in Savannah Creek, and they have three board members at Vance Maritime in their pocket. If we strike now, we only hit Garrett. We need to cut the head off the entire dragon."
"Arthur Vance," I said.
"Arthur Vance is currently living in a fortified estate on Gibson Island," Tobias said, pulling up a high-resolution satellite map of a gated luxury compound surrounded by water and private security guards. "He hasn't left that estate in two years due to alleged health issues. But my informants tell me he is hosting a private victory celebration tonight."
"A celebration for our deaths?"
"A celebration for the acquisition of Vance Maritime," Tobias corrected. "Every major investor in the regional shipping industry will be there, along with Garrett, Penelope, and the three corrupt board members."
I stood up, walking toward the small bathroom mirror hanging on the brick wall. My face was pale, my eyes shadowed, but the timid, compliant woman who had let her husband brew her poisoned milk every night was gone. In her place stood the true daughter of Thomas Vance.
"We need to go to Gibson Island," I said, catching Tobias’s reflection in the glass.
"It's suicide to walk through the front gate," Tobias said.
"I don't plan on walking through the front gate," I replied, turning to face him. "Vance Maritime built the deep-water docks on Gibson Island twelve years ago. I know every maintenance hatch, every underwater intake valve, and every blind spot in their perimeter security system."
Tobias looked at me for a long moment, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face.
May you like
"You really are our father's daughter," he murmured.
"No," I said, pulling my hair back into a tight braid. "Father was too forgiving. He thought Arthur Vance was just a bitter competitor. I know what they really are—and tonight, I'm going to make them pay for every drop of blood they took from this family."
