Chapter 17 - The Shattered Glass
Garrick.
The sound of his voice sent a visceral shock through my veins. He was supposed to be under house arrest, awaiting trial on felony charges for the wedding assault and corporate embezzlement. The desperation in his tone reeked of a cornered animal who knew the prison gates were swinging shut.
"Break it down!" Garrick screamed to someone outside.
Julian didn't hesitate. He grabbed the heavy steel lockbox containing the original federal filings, tucked it under his arm, and seized my hand. "Trapdoor. Now, Clara!"
Arthur cocked the hammer of his revolver, standing directly in front of the front entry. "Go, Clara! Tell Victoria that Arthur Sterling sends his regards!"
Julian lifted the hatch, revealing a narrow wooden ladder leading down into the dark, churning black water below the pilings. We scrambled down just as the front door splintered with a deafening crack.
Gunfire echoed above us—a single, sharp report that reverberated through the floorboards, followed by a howl of rage and the crash of shattered glass as decades of delicate clocks were knocked from their mountings.
"Arthur!" I gasped, trying to climb back up.
"He's holding them off, Clara—we have to make sure this box reaches the state police!" Julian pulled me down onto the rocking wooden platform below. The cold spray of the Atlantic stung my face.
Tied to the piling was a small aluminum skiff with an outboard motor. Julian cut the rope with his pocket knife, shoved the lockbox under the bow seat, and helped me in before yanking the starter cord. The motor sputtered, roared to life, and we shot out into the pitch-black waves just as a figure appeared on the balcony above us.
"Clara!" Garrick roared from the edge of the pier, holding a flashlight that cut through the darkness. His handsome, once-charming face was twisted in psychotic fury, his designer coat soaked with ocean mist. "You ruined everything! You took my name, you took my money, you took my family!"
He raised an arm, aiming something dark and heavy toward the boat.
"Get down!" Julian threw his weight over me, forcing me flat against the bottom of the skiff.
A bullet struck the outboard motor cowling with a violent, metallic ricochet. Sparks flew, and the engine shrieked in protest, coughing black smoke, but the current caught the hull, carrying us swiftly out into the protective cloak of the coastal fog.
Garrick’s furious screams faded into the crash of the surf and the steady thrum of the struggling motor.
"Julian," I whispered, my voice shaking as I felt his weight on top of me. "Julian, are you hit?"
He pushed himself up slowly, breathing heavily. The lantern light from the distant shoreline revealed his face—pale, clenched with pain, but his eyes were clear.
"I'm fine," he gritted out. "The motor took the hit. But we’re losing fuel. We need to reach the public marina before the engine dies."
I sat up, wrapping my arms around him to steady his shaking hands on the tiller. Behind us, the light from Arthur’s cottage was suddenly swallowed by a bloom of orange fire.
"They torched the cottage," I whispered in horror.
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"Arthur knew the tides," Julian said through clenched teeth, his voice hard with grief and determination. "There's a sea cave under the foundation. He told me about it years ago. He wouldn't have stayed if he didn't have an exit. Now we make sure Garrick and Helena pay for every single thing they’ve burned."
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