Chapter 4 - The Hidden Ledger
Elara stared at him incredulously. “My skiff? That outboard motor barely survived the trip to the jet! You want to take it three miles across a churning, storm-slicked lake while armed men are tearing my house apart?”
“It’s faster than walking,” Leandro replied deadpan.
“You’re insane,” Elara whispered, though she was already looking toward the small wooden slip where her battered aluminum boat was tied up in the boathouse shadows.
“Maybe,” Leandro conceded, taking a step closer. For a moment, the distance between them vanished. Despite the dirt, the blood, and the smell of lake water, there was an intense, gravitational pull to him that she hated herself for feeling. “But right now, your house is gone, your bank is taking your land, and the men up there think you’re an accomplice to my escape. If they find this boathouse, they won't just burn the cabin. They’ll erase you.”
The brutal truth of his words hit her like a physical blow. There was no going back to normal. The moment she struck that jet window with the anchor, her quiet, lonely life in Blackwater Lake had ended.
“Fine,” Elara said, her voice dropping into a hard, resolute register. She walked over to the boat and untied the frayed mooring rope. “We take the boat. But we’re doing it my way. I know these waters in the dark; you don't. If you try to give me tactical orders on my own lake, I’ll dump you back in the water.”
A rare, faint ghost of a smile touched the corner of Leandro’s mouth. It transformed his stern face, making him look dangerously human. “Deal.”
They slipped the skiff into the water without a splash. Elara climbed in first, taking the tiller, while Leandro settled quietly in the middle bench, keeping a low profile. She didn't pull the cord right away; she let the current carry them twenty yards out into the darkness of the cove before she gave the starter cord a sharp, practiced yank.
The motor caught on the first pull—a quiet, sputtering purr that was instantly swallowed by the sound of the rain. Elara steered them away from the dock, hugging the rocky shoreline where the deep shadows of the pine trees kept them invisible from the main house.
As they glided across the dark water, Leandro leaned back slightly, wincing as he shifted his weight off his injured leg.
“You’re taking a massive risk helping me,” Leandro said quietly over the hum of the motor. “Most people would have handed me over to them for a reward.”
“I don't care about your money, Leandro,” Elara said, keeping her eyes fixed on the dark water ahead. “And I didn't save you for a reward. I saved a man drowning in a sinking plane. The fact that he turned out to be a walking disaster movie is just my bad luck.”
“Is it?” Leandro asked softly.
Elara glanced at him sideways. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Marcus didn't just want me dead,” Leandro said, his voice turning cold and analytical. “He’s been systematically draining my private offshore accounts for the last six months. The flight plan leak wasn't just an assassination attempt—it was a cover-up. He needed me out of the way before the annual audit tomorrow.”
“An audit,” Elara said, the pieces clicking together. “So it’s not just a coup. It’s financial.”
“Everything is financial,” Leandro replied. “And hidden inside my safe house down the shoreline isn't just a burner phone. It’s the physical ledger containing every transaction Marcus authorized. With that ledger, I don't just survive. I take everything back.”
Elara cut the motor as they approached a small, overgrown inlet hidden behind a thick wall of weeping willows. The skiff glided silently against the muddy bank.
“This is it,” Elara whispered, pointing toward a dilapidated wooden cabin half-swallowed by the foliage. “The old caretaker’s shack. Nobody’s lived here in twenty years.”
Leandro stepped out of the boat first, sinking ankle-deep into the mud, but he caught his balance quickly. He turned to help Elara ashore, his strong hand gripping her forearm.
As they walked up toward the rotting porch of the caretaker’s shack, Leandro suddenly stopped, his hand dropping to his pistol.
Elara froze behind him. “What?”
Leandro stared down at the wooden steps. A fresh boot print was pressed deep into the muddy soil of the doormat.
May you like
Someone had already been here.
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