4. Darius #3
Before Hyrum could finish his sentence, Gill stepped forward, her posture ramrod straight, her expression a mask of cold, academic vengeance.
Beside her, moving like silent shadows, the pair of sharp-suited federal agents identified themselves as being from the corporate fraud division.
Everyone's attention shifted as the door opened once again to admit two local law enforcement officers.
"Sorry we got held up," the first officer said politely, stepping up beside the federal agents.
The color drained from Debbi's face, her mouth parting in a soundless gasp as she stared at the badges.
Gill walked right up to the mahogany table, stopping directly opposite Debbi. She didn't look at Hyrum, and she didn't look at Darius. Her sharp, intelligent eyes locked onto Debbi’s, holding her gaze with a terrifying, unblinking intensity.
"You thought you could sweep your dirty little footprint across the whole southeastern coastline, didn't you?
" Gill's voice was low, steady, and dripping with a decade's worth of suppressed pain.
She dropped a thick stack of documentation onto the table right in front of Debbi's laptop.
"These federal agents have audit logs covering your firm's fraudulent manipulations across seven different states, detailing every business you've maliciously targeted, sabotaged, and illegally forced into distress. "
"This... this is an overreach," Debbi stammered, her hands visibly shaking as she tried to gather her composure. "We are legitimate consultants—"
"You are nothing of the kind," Gill cut her off, her voice slicing through the air like a razor. She opened the federal folder, sliding a set of yellowed, fragile archival papers across the polished wood until they rested right under Debbi's trembling fingertips.
Gill leaned in close, her eyes narrowing into cold daggers.
"And this," Gill whispered, her voice ringing with absolute triumph, "this is the evidence that you lied ten years ago. You didn't just steal a concept. You plagiarized my foundational research word for word."
Debbi looked down at the papers, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the undeniable proof of her academic theft.
Without missing a beat, Gill pulled out an even thicker stack of documents from her folder, tossing them across the table.
"And just in case anyone in this room had any lingering doubts about your integrity, here are the original manuscripts, peer reviews, and whistleblower statements from three other brilliant researchers whose entire life's work you and your uncle Hyrum stole, repackaged, and sold as your own.
" Gill straightened up, a fierce, brilliant smile touching her lips as she looked down at the pale, ruined fraudsters.
"You aren't developers. You aren't experts.
You are two pathetic, desperate frauds at the very end of your road. "
Darius
Present Day: The Final Stretch of the Race
The chilled, sterile air of the Sanibel conference room vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by the blistering heat of the morning sun and the heavy, cool spray of the lake.
Darius snapped back to the present, his muscles burning as he drove his legs back against the footrests.
The heavy wooden oar bent under the resistance of the water, the damp scent of cedar and lake water washing away the lingering memory of the boardroom.
"That is unbelievable," Michael gasped, his broad shoulders tensing as he threw his weight into the stroke. "They really thought their political connections made them untouchable."
"She spent ten years hiding behind those stolen credentials," Owen grunted, his knuckles white against the dark grain of his oar. "It's about time the truth caught up with her."
"Good riddance," Martin added from the bow, his face flushed crimson under his tropical hat as he struggled to keep his rhythm. "That family won’t harm anyone again."
"Less talking, more pulling!" Baxter shouted from the stern, his hands white as he gripped the rudder lines. "Sanibel is turning on the gas! We have fifty yards to the docks! Slide, pull! Give me everything you've got left!"
Darius locked his eyes on the back of Michael’s shoulders, matching the rapid, grueling pace.
His palms were raw and burning, the wood of Salty's Pride groaning under the immense strain as they entered the final stretch.
The sleek carbon-fiber boat of the Sanibel team was hovering right beside their bow, their oars slicing the water in a rapid, clinical synchronization.
"Three, two, pull!" Baxter yelled, his voice cracking over the splashing water.
Darius dug deep, his thighs screaming as he threw his entire frame into the final three strokes. The heavy wooden gig surged forward with a heavy, wet splash, the bow slicing through the white wake of the finish line just a fraction of a second ahead of the neon green jerseys.
A loud horn blared from the starter's raft.
"Heat one winner, Salty's Pride!" Pete's voice boomed over the PA system, building the suspense across the shoreline.
The banks erupted. On the grassy banks behind the diner, the Hearts Hotel crowd went wild.
Linda was standing at the very edge of the wooden dock, her navy baseball cap waving in the air as she cheered, her face lit up with a joy that made Darius's burning muscles feel light as air.
It was a slim margin, but a win was a win.