Chapter 35 - Across the Atlantic Tide
Three days later, the humid, salt-tinged air of coastal Georgia struck us the moment we stepped off the private charter into the damp Savannah twilight. It was a suffocating contrast to the crisp, crystalline purity of the Swiss Alps.
We moved under ghost credentials Vance had secured through his remaining deep-cover network. To the world, Rachel Campbell, Vance Sterling, and Madison were still resting quietly in a secluded sanctuary near Lake Geneva. In reality, we were driving an unmarked black SUV down Highway 17, beneath the sprawling canopy of ancient live oaks draped in heavy, weeping Spanish moss.
Chloe slept peacefully in her rear safety seat, clutching a soft plush bear Madison had bought at the terminal. Madison stared out the window into the misty darkness, her knuckles white against her denim jeans.
"I haven't been down this road since I was seven years old," Madison murmured. "After Dad's car went over the bridge, Mom dragged us to New York within forty-eight hours. She burned all his letters, threw away his clothes, and forbade us from ever speaking of Georgia. I always thought she was grieving. But what if she was running?"
"Your mother knew the syndicate's reach," Vance said from behind the steering wheel, his eyes constantly scanning the rearview mirror. "The Iris wasn't born in Europe. It was funded by old American blood money before it crossed the Atlantic. If Arthur Campbell uncovered where that money came from, he was marked for death long before the car crash."
"Look," I interrupted, pointing through the windshield.
Ahead, shrouded in thick river fog, stood two towering wrought-iron gates, warped by time and smothered in creeping wisteria. A rusted crest sat atop the archway: an eagle clutching a broken wheel—the original seal of the Campbell shipping dynasty.
Vance cut the headlights, letting the SUV idle in the shadows of the cypress trees. He engaged the night-vision monitors on the dashboard. "No heat signatures on the perimeter. The main house appears dormant. But there's fresh gravel crushed near the gatehouse. Someone drove through here within the last forty-eight hours."
My heart pounded against my ribs. "Vance, Madison, stay alert."
"Always," Vance whispered, unclipping his sidearm and checking the chamber with a quiet, practiced click. He turned back, his gaze softening as he looked at me and Chloe. "I swore an oath to protect you both in that courtroom. That oath hasn't expired, Rachel. It never will."
May you like
We exited the vehicle, leaving Madison inside with Chloe behind locked, bullet-resistant doors. Vance and I approached the rusted gates on foot. As we reached the iron bars, I noticed the heavy chain wasn't locked. It had been neatly cut, the links resting deliberately on an antique stone post, holding down a fresh white magnolia blossom.
Beneath the flower was a single brass key.
