Chapter 6 - The Confrontation at the Pier
"Julian!" I roared over the sound of the wind and the crashing waves against the concrete dock.
The man in the raincoat froze. He turned around slowly, his hand dropping instinctively toward the pocket of his heavy coat. When he saw me standing there, soaked to the skin, his face twisted into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You," Julian spat, stepping in front of his sister as if he could hide her from the ghost of her past. "How the hell did you find us? Victoria was supposed to keep you busy in the valley for at least forty-eight hours."
"Your wife is currently sitting in a Walker County holding cell, Julian," I said, taking three steady steps forward. The rain was running down my face, blurring my vision, but I kept my eyes locked on the leather briefcase in Ashley's hands. "She spent the afternoon crying because she realized the man she married is nothing but a cheap thief who used her birthday to hide a bank heist."
Ashley stepped out from behind her brother, pulling her sunglasses down past the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were cold, dead, and entirely devoid of the charm she used to manipulate the corporate world five years ago. "Arthur," she said, her voice cutting through the storm like a rusted blade. "You just couldn't let it go, could you? You had your millions. You had your precious little ranch. You had your quiet, perfect life. But you had to destroy mine."
"You destroyed your own life, Ashley, the day you decided to steal from my family's company," I said. "And now you’re trying to do it again. The deed to the ranch is already being corrected by the state. The banks have frozen your domestic accounts. You’re running out of road."
Julian let out a harsh, ugly laugh. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, black semi-automatic pistol, keeping it lowered by his side but pointed directly at my chest. "The domestic accounts don't matter, old man. The moment we step onto that vessel, the Panamanian registry protects us. The six million is already clearing the secondary routing nodes in the Caymans. We’re leaving, and you’re going to step aside, or I’m going to leave you right here on this concrete for the tide to wash away."
"Julian, don't," David’s voice came from behind me. He had walked up quietly, his hands raised in the air, but his eyes were fixed on the gun. "There are federal agents covering every exit of this terminal. If you pull that trigger, you aren't leaving this harbor alive."
Julian’s gaze darted toward the shadows behind my truck, his confidence flickering for a fraction of a second. That was all the time I needed.
I lunged forward, not with the grace of a trained fighter, but with the raw, heavy strength of a man who spent his days tossing ninety-pound hay bales into the back of a wagon. I grabbed Julian’s wrist before he could raise the weapon, slamming his hand down against the cold metal hood of the Mercedes. The gun went off once, the sound a sharp crack that was instantly swallowed by the roar of the thunder above us. The bullet shattered the SUV's windshield, sending a spray of safety glass across the asphalt.
Julian roared in pain as I twisted his arm back, forcing the weapon from his fingers. It clattered against the wet concrete and skittered over the edge of the pier, vanishing into the black, churning water of the Savannah river.
May you like
"Ashley, run!" Julian screamed as he threw his weight into me, slamming his fist into my ribs.
I stumbled back, the breath leaving my lungs in a sharp gasp, but I didn't drop. I looked past him. Ashley had already turned, her high-heeled shoes slipping on the wet wooden planks of the ship’s gangway as she scrambled toward the open steel hatch of the Meridian Star.
