Chapter 17 - The Boathouse Trap
The walk down the sloping green lawn toward the lake was brisk, the cold autumn wind whipping off the choppy gray waters of Lake Michigan and sending white-capped waves crashing against the stone seawall.
The estate boathouse—a charming, cedar-shingled building where Adrian kept his vintage mahogany Chris-Craft motorboat—sat quietly at the end of a long wooden pier extending out over the water.
As Adrian and Sophie approached the pier, accompanied by two armed security guards, they noticed the heavy oak door of the boathouse was ajar. A single strand of red ribbon was tied to the iron door handle.
"Hold back," Adrian instructed the guards, drawing his Sig Sauer pistol once more.
He stepped onto the wooden planks of the pier, his boots clicking softly against the wood. He moved forward, shielding Sophie behind his shoulder, until he reached the open boathouse door.
Inside, the dim interior smelled of engine oil, old varnish, and damp cedar. Resting on a workbench in the center of the room was a small, square wooden box tied with twine.
Adrian approached the workbench slowly, inspecting the box for any tripwires or pressure-sensitive switches. Finding none, he used the barrel of his pistol to flip the wooden lid open.
Inside the box lay a stack of old, water-damaged photographs and a single modern flash drive.
Sophie stepped around his shoulder, looking down at the photos. "What are those?"
Adrian picked up the top photograph. It showed two men standing in front of the exact same North Woods boundary post decades ago—his grandfather, Charles Vale, shaking hands with a younger man who bore a striking resemblance to the intruder from the previous night.
"My grandfather and Julian Holloway," Adrian murmured.
He reached into the box and pulled out the flash drive, slipping it into his jacket pocket. At the bottom of the box was a small note scrawled in black ink:
The truth cannot be drowned, Adrian. Meet me at the old logging mill in the North Woods at midnight tonight. Come alone, or the next package we send to your bride won't be photographs.
Sophie stared at the note, her face pale. "It's a trap, Adrian. He doesn't want to talk—he wants you isolated in the woods."
"I know it's a trap," Adrian said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he slipped the note into his pocket. "Which is exactly why I'm going."
May you like
"You can't go alone," Sophie insisted, her hands gripping the lapels of his jacket. "If he's setting an ambush—"
"If I don't go, he will keep coming after you, Sophie," Adrian interrupted, his grey eyes softening as he looked down at her. "I didn't marry you to watch you live in fear on our own estate. I built this empire to protect you. And I will burn Marcus Holloway's entire conspiracy to the ground before I let him lay a single finger on my wife."
