Chapter 10 - Blood on the Water
"Director Vance and his federal marshals just walked into a very well-coordinated crossfire," Julian said smoothly, checking his watch as if he had a dinner reservation to catch. "My associates are currently clearing the property. By midnight, there won't be a single federal witness left alive, and the official report will state that a disgruntled ex-con went on a violent rampage, killing his stepfamily and law enforcement alike before fleeing the jurisdiction."
A cold sweat broke out across my back. Director Vance was walking into an execution trap.
"You're insane," I breathed.
"I'm efficient," Julian corrected, taking another step closer down the dock. "Now, hand over the case, Finnley. Before I decide to skip the paperwork and put a bullet in you right here."
I looked past Julian toward the black sedan idling on the gravel path. The driver’s side door was open, and the dashboard radio was tuned to an encrypted frequency, crackling with static and distant shouts.
I didn't hand over the case.
Instead, with a sudden, explosive burst of movement, I hurled the heavy metal Pelican case directly at Julian’s head.
Julian ducked instinctively, the heavy case grazing his shoulder and clattering loudly against the wooden planks of the dock. But that fraction of a second was all I needed. I lunged forward, tackling him around the waist before he could draw the concealed firearm from his jacket holster.
We crashed hard onto the splintered wood of the dock, wrestling furiously as the black water of Silver Lake lapped angrily beneath us. Julian struck me hard across the jaw with an elbow, sending a blinding flash of white light through my vision, but I refused to let go, grabbing a loose mooring rope and wrapping it around his wrists with desperate strength.
"You stupid—" Julian choked out, thrashing violently beneath me.
Before he could throw me off, a sudden flash of headlights cut through the trees along the shore path.
A battered, dust-covered pickup truck came barreling down the embankment, its tires spraying gravel as it slammed to a halt right beside Julian’s black sedan. The passenger door flew open, and Arthur hopped out, leveling a heavy shotgun squarely at Julian’s chest.
"Don't move another inch, Mr. Prosecutor," Arthur rasped, his voice steady as a rock.
I scrambled off Julian, gasping for air, wiping a streak of blood from my lip. Director Vance stepped out from the driver’s side of the battered pickup truck, his tactical vest scuffed, his service weapon drawn and aimed straight at Julian’s head.
"Federal Marshal service, Julian," Vance announced, his voice lethal and cold as he slapped steel cuffs onto the prosecutor’s wrists. "You’re under arrest for conspiracy, corporate espionage, and the murder of Claire Dennis."
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Julian glared up at us from the dock, his face twisted in pure, venomous hatred, but he didn't say another word as Vance hauled him to his feet and shoved him into the back of the truck.
I stood there on the wooden dock, breathing heavily, my hands trembling as I picked up the Pelican case. The battle for my father’s legacy was far from over—and the dark secrets of the Dennis family were only beginning to surface.
