Chapter 5
The lake house looked exactly as I remembered.
Weathered cedar.
A wide porch overlooking the water.
The same tire swing hanging from the oak tree.
But there was nothing warm about it now.
Lights blazed from every window.
Two pickup trucks I didn’t recognize were parked by the garage.
And the air smelled wrong.
Like fear instead of pine and campfire smoke.
Thorne killed the van’s lights a quarter mile back.
We walked the rest through the woods.
Stayed low.
Stayed quiet.
“Two men by the front,” Thorne whispered, using binoculars. “Armed. Big. Carter’s loan shark goons, by the looks of them. One more patrolling the back. Reagan and Carter are inside. I counted five people total.”
Five against two.
Bad odds.
But the text had said come alone.
If they saw Thorne…
“I go in through the tunnel,” I said. “You stay here. Cover me. If things go south… you make sure they don’t get away.”
Thorne looked like he wanted to argue.
But he nodded.
“Your father first. Always. The second you have him, get out the same way. I’ll create a distraction if I have to. And Finnley?”
“Yeah.”
“Shoot first if you have to. Don’t hesitate. These men don’t play by rules.”
I crawled through the underbrush to the boathouse.
The old wooden door was just as I remembered.
Hidden behind vines.
I pulled it open.
It didn’t even squeak.
Dad had oiled the hinges every spring.
The tunnel was dark.
Damp.
I used my phone’s flashlight.
Memories bombarded me—me at ten years old, pretending to be a spy, Dad laughing as I “captured” him.
Now I really was a spy.
And the stakes were life or death.
The tunnel ended in the basement.
Beneath the kitchen.
I could hear voices through the floorboards.
Reagan’s voice.
Cold.
Sharp.
“You should have killed him when you had the chance. A year ago. Before he hid the shares. Before he hired that investigator.”
Carter’s voice.
Nervous.
Sweaty.
“I couldn’t okay? If he died right after the ‘funeral,’ the cops might have asked questions. This is better. He signs over the last of the assets tomorrow. Then we stage a suicide. Note says he couldn’t live with the guilt of what his son did. Perfect. Clean. Nobody suspects a thing.”
My blood boiled.
They were going to kill him tomorrow.
And frame me even in death.
A third voice.
Weaker.
Raspy.
But unmistakable.
“You’ll never get away with it,” Dad said. “Finnley’s out. He’ll find me. He’ll stop you.”
Reagan laughed.
A sound like breaking glass.
“Your precious son? He’s probably already dead. Carter’s men were waiting for him at the storage unit. And if he somehow survived that? He’ll walk right through that front door tonight. Into the bullet we have waiting for him.”
I couldn’t wait anymore.
I found the basement stairs.
Crept up them.
The kitchen door was ajar.
I peeked through.
The living room.
Dad was in a wheelchair by the fireplace.
Gaunt.
His hair was longer than I’d ever seen it.
His hands were tied to the armrests.
But his eyes—they were still my dad’s eyes.
Carter was pacing.
Drinking from a whiskey glass.
Reagan sat on the couch, filing her nails like she was at a salon.
No sign of the three goons.
They must have been outside.
Now or never.
I kicked the kitchen door open.
Gun raised.
“Nobody move.”
The effect was instant.
Carter dropped his glass.
It shattered on the hardwood.
Reagan froze.
Her nail file hovering in mid-air.
And Dad…
Dad looked at me.
And for the first time in three years, I saw hope in his eyes.
“Finnley,” he breathed.
“Step away from him,” I said to Carter and Reagan.
My voice was steadier than I felt.
“Now.”
Carter recovered first.
He sneered.
“Look at you. The big ex-con. With a gun. You think one little pistol changes anything? My men are outside. They’ll be in here in ten seconds. You’ll be dead before you pull the trigger.”
“Let him go,” I said.
“Or I shoot Reagan first. Then you. Then I tell the cops it was self-defense. Who do you think they’ll believe? The grieving son who just found his kidnapped father? Or the stepbrother with a history of fraud and gambling debts?”
Carter hesitated.
Glanced at Reagan.
She was pale now.
The arrogance melting away.
“Carter… do what he says,” she whispered.
The front door burst open.
One of the goons stood there.
Holding a rifle.
“Boss? Everything okay in—”
He saw the gun in my hand.
Saw Reagan’s terrified face.
Raised his rifle.
A shot rang out.
Not from me.
From the window.
The goon dropped.
Thorne.
He’d taken the shot.
Chaos erupted.
Carter lunged at me.
I fired.
The bullet grazed his shoulder.
He screamed and fell back, clutching his arm.
Reagan tried to run for the back door.
Another shot from outside.
The wood by her feet splintered.
She froze.
Hands up.
I ran to Dad.
Fumbled with the knots on his wrists.
They were tight.
Rope-burned.
“Dad. Dad, I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
He grabbed my shirt.
Weak fingers.
Tears streaming down his face.
“I knew you’d come, son. I never stopped believing. Never.”
The other two goons were yelling outside.
Shooting at Thorne’s position in the woods.
“We have to move,” I said.
Lifting Dad from the wheelchair.
He was lighter than he should have been.
Bones sharp through his clothes.
“Can you walk?”
“With you helping me,” he said.
We headed for the basement.
For the tunnel.
Reagan screamed after us.
“You’ll never get away with this! I own the police! I own the judges! You’ll both rot in—”
I didn’t hear the rest.
We were already down the stairs.
Into the dark.
Into the tunnel that Dad had built for exactly this moment.
Behind us, I heard more gunshots.
Tires screeching.
Thorne was making good on his promise to create a distraction.
We emerged into the boathouse.
The cool night air hit our faces.
The lake was black and endless.
Thorne pulled the van up three minutes later.
Tires spitting gravel.
“Get in!” he yelled. “Cops are five minutes out! Reagan called them the second you walked in!”
We piled in.
Dad collapsed against me.
Exhausted.
But alive.
God, he was alive.
As we sped away, I looked back at the lake house.
The place of so many happy memories.
Now just a crime scene.
But I didn’t care about the house.
I didn’t care about the money.
I had my father.
May you like
And that was enough.
For now.
