Chapter 20 - The Midnight Courier
The celebration was quiet that evening.
Julian, Kaelen, and a small circle of the senior island staff joined me on the terrace for dinner. We toasted not to revenge, but to resilience. As the twilight deepened into a canopy of brilliant tropical stars, the ocean breeze was gentle, carrying the sweet scent of jasmine and warm rain.
By midnight, the terrace was empty. I stood alone by the infinity pool, watching the moonlight cut a silver trail across the dark waters, holding an untouched glass of wine.
A sudden, sharp knock at the villa’s heavy wooden gate broke the stillness.
Kaelen appeared immediately around the corner, his hand instinctively resting on his sidearm, a flashlight cutting through the garden path.
"Stay here, ma'am," he said quietly.
Five minutes later, Kaelen returned, but he wasn't alone. He carried a small, watertight Pelican case sealed with black industrial tape. His expression was taut, all the easy celebration from dinner vanished into thin air.
"A private courier drone just dropped this on the north helipad," Kaelen said, setting the case on the glass table. "Transponder was hard-coded to self-destruct after delivery. It didn't come from Victoria's people, and it didn't come from federal marshals."
"Open it," I said, setting my wine glass down.
Kaelen cut through the industrial tape with his tactical knife and flipped the plastic latches. Inside lay a single, unbranded burner phone and an ultra-high-resolution photograph printed on glossy paper.
I picked up the photograph.
My breath caught in my throat.
The photo was taken from inside the cockpit of the emergency evacuation helicopter—the very helicopter Richard had flown away in during the height of the storm while I was left on the roof.
Through the front windshield of the cockpit, you could clearly see the raging hurricane winds and the roof of our villa below. But that wasn't what made my blood run cold.
In the reflection of the cockpit’s cockpit glass, behind the pilot’s seat, sat Richard and Sloane. But behind them, sitting in the shadows of the rear passenger compartment—a seat that had supposedly been empty—was a third person.
A person whose face was partially obscured by a dark windbreaker, but whose wrist bore a distinctive, custom-engraved platinum chronometer watch.
A watch I had personally designed and gifted three years ago.
A watch worn only by Julian.
May you like
Before my mind could process the impossible betrayal, the burner phone inside the Pelican case suddenly vibrated violently against the plastic casing, its unlisted screen flashing with an incoming call from an encrypted overseas number.
I stared at the ringing phone, my heart pounding against my ribs like a war drum, as the peaceful night air shattered into a brand-new, terrifying storm.
