46.
STORM
"The most dangerous men aren't always the loudest. They're the ones who make everyone else
whisper."
— James Sinclair
No one moved.
The Coast Guard lieutenant held a clear evidence bag in his hand.
Inside was a single cream-colored envelope.
My heart pounded.
"It's addressed to us?"
The lieutenant nodded.
"It was sitting in the middle of the captain's desk."
He handed it to Ward.
"There wasn't another piece of paper in the room."
Ward studied the elegant handwriting on the front.
In dark blue ink, it simply read:
To the Sinclair Sisters
A chill crept up my spine.
"He knew we'd find it."
Thomas answered quietly.
"No."
"He wanted you to."
Ward looked at me.
"It's your family's decision."
I nodded.
"Open it."
Ward carefully removed the letter from the evidence bag and unfolded the heavy stationery.
His jaw tightened as he began to read.
Then he stopped.
"What?"
I asked.
He handed it to me.
"You should."
I took a steadying breath.
The handwriting was beautiful.
Elegant.
Almost refined.
It wasn't the handwriting of a monster.
It made the words even more terrifying.
Miss Storm Sinclair,
You and your sisters have inherited your grandfather's stubbornness.
I warned James Sinclair many times to leave the past where it belonged.
He chose not to listen.
Now you have chosen the same path.
You believe today was a victory.
It was merely an introduction.
You have something that belongs to me.
I would appreciate its return.
The next time we meet, I hope your family won't be present.
I'd hate for them to witness another tragedy.
Respectfully,
Charles Ashford
The paper shook in my hands.
Not from fear.
From anger.
Ben reached for the letter.
"I'd like one minutes alone with this guy."
Nathan took the page next.
His face hardened as he read every word.
"He talks like a businessman."
Thomas nodded.
"That's because he thinks murder is simply another business transaction."
I folded the letter carefully.
"He's wrong."
Everyone looked at me.
"We don't have anything that belongs to him."
Thomas smiled.
"No."
"We have something he stole."
Silence settled over the room.
The old man's words seemed to echo inside the boathouse.
Finally, Calle spoke.
"What if that's the whole point?"
We all turned toward her.
"He doesn't know exactly what Grandpa left behind."
Ben frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"If he knew..."
She pointed toward the journals.
"...he would've destroyed them years ago."
Thomas's eyes lit with approval.
"Go on."
"He knows Grandpa hid something."
"He knows it can destroy him."
"But he doesn't know what it is."
She smiled.
"That means..."
"...he's still searching."
Thomas laughed softly.
"James would be so proud of you."
Nathan walked to the open doorway.
His eyes swept the quiet cove.
"I've been thinking."
Ward joined him.
"So have I."
Nathan looked back toward Thomas.
"My father gave Ashford information."
Thomas nodded.
"Yes."
"But James still managed to hide everything."
"How?"
Thomas smiled.
"Because James was always one step ahead."
He looked toward me.
"Your grandfather figured out there was a traitor months before anyone else."
"What?"
"He never told us."
"No."
Thomas's smile faded.
"He needed to know how much the traitor already knew."
"So..."
"He fed him lies."
Ward's eyebrows lifted.
"Lies?"
Thomas nodded.
"False routes."
"Fake hiding places."
"Imaginary meetings."
Nathan stared at the journals.
"Grandpa was testing him," I said.
"He was."
"And every lie eventually reached Charles Ashford."
Nathan let out a long breath.
"So James knew exactly who had betrayed him."
"He did."
I looked down at Grandpa's journal.
"He carried that secret alone."
Thomas's voice softened.
"To protect all of you."
The Coast Guard lieutenant cleared his throat.
"There's one more thing."
Ward turned.
"What is it?"
"We found something in Ashford's cabin."
The lieutenant reached into another evidence bag.
It wasn't money.
Or a weapon.
It was an old photograph.
Faded with age.
He handed it to Thomas.
The old man's face turned white.
"No..."
His voice cracked.
"It can't be."
Storm stepped beside him.
"What is it?"
Thomas slowly turned the photograph toward us.
It showed James Sinclair.
Thomas.
Nathan's father.
Charles Ashford.
And standing beside them...
A young woman holding a little girl in her arms.
My breath caught.
I knew that man and the woman.
So did my sisters.
It was our mother and father.
Mom couldn't have been more than twenty.
She was smiling.
Completely unaware that the men standing beside her would one day become enemies.
Thomas whispered, almost to himself,
"James..."
"...you never told me they were there that day, and I had completely forgotten that they came along."
Then his finger drifted to the corner of the photograph.
There, almost hidden in the shadows...
stood another man.
His face wasn't scratched away.
It wasn't blurred.
It was perfectly clear.
Thomas staggered backward.
Ward caught his arm before he fell.
Thomas never took his eyes off the photograph.
"Oh, dear God..."
Storm's voice trembled.
"Thomas..."
"Who is he?"
The old sailor looked at each of us, his eyes filled with disbelief.
Then he whispered the words that made every hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"That's the man..."
"...Charles Ashford has been protecting all these years."