Chapter 7 #2
“And the seventh location on his map?” I pull out the folded paper, showing Tommy the marking beneath the lighthouse.
“The old storage cellar,” Tommy answers without hesitation. “Beneath the lighthouse foundation. Samuel spent hours down there shortly before he died.”
“There’s more,” I say, pulling out the USB drive. “I found Dad’s insurance policy.”
Tommy’s eyes widen as I explain about the lockbox and the note. “Samuel always was thorough,” he murmurs. “This changes things. With this documentation, we might be able to get emergency protection for the site even without recovering the star.”
“But I still want it back,” I say firmly. “It’s not just evidence. It’s the last thing Dad, and I made together.”
“Can you show us?” Sid asks.
Tommy hesitates, loyalty to my father warring with caution about our intentions. “Why the sudden interest, Sid? Your family’s history with maritime artifacts is well known in certain circles.”
Sid doesn’t flinch from the implied accusation. “I’m helping Marnie recover her star. Whatever my grandfather’s activities, my interest is in supporting Samuel’s daughter.”
The straightforward response seems to satisfy Tommy. “Wait here,” he instructs, before climbing the stairs to check on his tour group.
He returns minutes later. “I’ve asked my assistant to handle the next few tours. Follow me.”
Tommy leads us down the main staircase, then continues past the ground floor entrance to a narrow door I’d never noticed during previous lighthouse visits. Beyond lies another staircase, descending into darkness.
“Watch your step,” Tommy warns, switching on a flashlight. “These stairs date to the original construction.”
The storage cellar reveals itself as a circular stone room roughly twenty feet in diameter. Metal shelving lines the walls, holding maintenance supplies, old logbooks, and miscellaneous equipment accumulated over the lighthouse’s long history.
“Samuel focused on this area,” Tommy says, directing his flashlight toward the northern section of the cellar.
The beam illuminates a portion of wall that looks subtly different from the surrounding stonework. Slightly discolored, with mortar that appears newer than the adjacent sections.
“He believed something was hidden within the wall. Possibly during the 1923 renovations, when my great-grandfather was keeper.”
“Did he try to access it?” I ask, approaching the section of wall.
“No. He said proper archaeological methods would be needed to preserve whatever might be inside. He was documenting everything before approaching state historic preservation officials.”
The responsible approach sounds exactly like Dad. Thorough, methodical, respecting proper channels despite the excitement of discovery.
Finn moves to the wall section, sniffing intently along its base. His behavior suggests something indeed lies beyond the stonework.
“I believe Samuel encoded the precise location in your driftwood star,” Tommy continues. “Along with the logbook coordinates and other evidence he’d compiled. An insurance policy, he called it.”
“Insurance against development interests that might want to build over the wreck site,” Sid adds.
“Coastal Development Partners,” I confirm. “They’ve been acquiring properties throughout Seacliff Haven.”
Tommy nods. “Including the old caretaker’s cottage adjacent to the lighthouse grounds. They approached me about selling the lighthouse itself six months ago. Claimed they wanted to ‘preserve and enhance’ the historic structure as part of a larger coastal development.”
“But the lighthouse is historically protected,” Sid points out.
“They have friends in influential positions,” Tommy responds. “Samuel warned me they might find ways around the protections if evidence of the Salvador Mundi wasn’t properly documented.”
The pieces continue falling into place. Dad had been racing against powerful development interests, creating a record that would ensure the shipwreck site received protection regardless of his personal involvement.
“We need to recover my star,” I say. “And whatever is hidden in this wall.”
“Not without proper archaeological oversight,” Tommy cautions. “Samuel was adamant about that.”
“But we can document its existence,” Sid suggests. “Capture evidence that something is indeed hidden here.”
The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupts our discussion. Tommy’s expression shifts to alarm. “No tour groups should be coming down here.”
Finn’s posture changes instantly, his body tense, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
Jonathan Reeves appears in the doorway, flanked by two men whose builds suggest security rather than sightseeing. “How convenient,” he remarks. “All the interested parties in one location.”
Tommy steps forward, his usually friendly demeanor hardening. “This area is restricted, Mr. Reeves. Lighthouse visitors are not permitted in the storage cellar.”
“I’m not a visitor,” Reeves corrects. “I’m representing the new owners of the adjacent property, conducting due diligence regarding structural supports that may affect both properties.”
The explanation sounds rehearsed, a paper-thin cover for his true interest in the cellar. His gaze shifts to the wall section we had been examining, confirming my suspicion that he knows exactly what might be hidden there.
“We were just leaving,” Sid says, moving to position himself between Reeves and me.
“Not quite yet,” Reeves counters. “Ms. Lane and I have unfinished business regarding her driftwood creation.”
“You stole it,” I state. “Return it, and we can all move on.”
Reeves sighs. “The star contains information that rightfully belongs to my investors. Information your father acquired without proper authority.”
“You mean documented before your development plans could destroy it,” Tommy interjects. “Samuel was following proper archaeological protocols.”
“He was interfering with legitimate business interests,” Reeves snaps, his polished facade cracking momentarily. “Just as his daughter continues to do.”
Finn moves closer to me, his protective instincts fully engaged. The two men with Reeves watch him warily, clearly recognizing the Giant Schnauzer as a potential threat.
“What exactly do you want, Reeves?” Sid asks.
“The completing elements Samuel Lane discovered,” Reeves answers. “We have the star, but haven’t been able to decipher all its clues. We know the final piece is here, in this lighthouse.”
“And if we help you find it?” I ask, playing for time while considering our limited options.
“You get your sentimental creation returned, we acquire a historically interesting artifact, and development proceeds as planned. Everyone wins.”
Except history, preservation, and my father’s legacy, I think but don’t say aloud.
“What makes this Star of Sebastian so valuable to your investors?” Sid inquires, his tone conversational despite the tension filling the small space.
Reeves studies Sid. “A Gillespie would understand its significance better than most. Your grandfather sought it for decades, I believe.”
So Reeves knows about Sid’s family connection to maritime artifacts. The knowledge feels dangerous, suggesting his research extends beyond development opportunities to the personal histories of those who might oppose him.
“My grandfather collected historical objects,” Sid acknowledges. “I create art from driftwood. Different approaches to appreciating maritime heritage.”
“Both ultimately possessive,” Reeves observes. “Regardless, the Star of Sebastian represents a significant historical innovation. Properly authenticated, it would command an extraordinary price in certain private markets.”
“Black markets,” Tommy states.
Reeves doesn’t bother denying the accusation. “Specialized markets for discerning collectors. The development project is merely the visible business operation. The true opportunity lies beneath these waters.”
His candor confirms my worst fears about his intentions. Not preservation, not even legitimate development, but exploitation of historical artifacts for private gain.
“We don’t know where the Star of Sebastian is,” I tell him. “Dad never shared that information with me.”
“But he encoded its location in your driftwood creation,” Reeves counters. “The star points to the star, a rather poetic approach. We’ve analyzed the construction thoroughly, but certain elements remain unclear.”
The thought of strangers dismantling my careful creation, examining the pieces Dad and I collected together, fills me with renewed anger. “You’ve damaged it?”
“Examined it,” Reeves corrects. “The hollow space between the backing boards contained a microfilm with coordinates and authentication details, but part of the information appears to be missing. We believe the final element is here, in this cellar.”
So that’s how Dad had hidden the documentation. Microfilm inserted between the two backing pieces of the star, containing information that would authenticate the Salvador Mundi site and the Star of Sebastian itself.
“Even if we helped you,” Sid says, “what guarantee do we have that you’d return Marnie’s star or properly preserve the historical artifacts?”
“You have my word as a businessman,” Reeves replies, the platitude sounding hollow in the stone chamber.
“Not good enough,” I state.
Reeves sighs. “Then perhaps this will motivate cooperation.” He gestures to one of his men, who produces a phone and displays a photo on the screen.
The image shows my driftwood star, intact but obviously removed from its display context. Beside it sits a small bundle wrapped in protective cloth.
“The star and what we believe is the logbook mentioned in Samuel’s notes,” Reeves explains.
“Both currently in our possession at a secure location. Help us locate the final piece, and you can have the star back today. Continue interfering, and we’ll be forced to take more aggressive measures to protect our investment. ”
The thinly veiled threat hangs in the air between us. Finn senses my tension, pressing against my leg.