Chapter 10
The sea wind off the sound was bitter and clean, whipping through the skirts of Lottie’s party dress as Godwin walked down the long wooden expanse of the private pier.
He wore no overcoat. His tailored three-piece suit was immaculate, his tie straight, his hands empty at his sides. In his left hand, he carried a heavy, brass-cornered mahogany document case. With his right, he held Lottie’s small, warm hand in an unyielding grip.
At the end of the pier, the hundred-foot yacht rose and fell on the swells like a black iron monolith. Four armed men in dark deck jackets stood along the gunwales, their submachine guns resting in low-ready positions, watching the patriarch approach.
The gangway lowered with a heavy clatter of aluminum against timber.
Julian Alderbrook descended the stairs. He was thinner than Godwin, his fair hair streaked with silver at the temples, but the family resemblance was unmistakable in the cold, predatory set of his jaw. He smiled, a handsome, polished grin that had charmed European banking boards for five years.
"Godwin," Julian said, stepping onto the pier. "You haven't aged a day. Still wearing the same tailor, I see."
"Where is Clara, Julian?" Godwin asked, stopping four paces away.
Julian gestured with two fingers toward the salon door of the yacht.
The glass sliding door parted. Dr. Sterling stepped onto the deck, flanked by two deckhands. Between them was a rolling medical gurney. Clara lay beneath a white thermal blanket, an IV line taped to her wrist, her eyes half-open, blinking weakly against the glare of the gray water.
"Mommy!" Lottie cried out, taking a step forward.
Godwin’s hand kept her firmly anchored to his side. "Stay with me, Lottie."
"She’s alive, Godwin," Julian said, stepping closer, holding out his open palm. "The doctor administered the first counter-agent. The second syringe is in my pocket. Hand over the case, and I leave the harbor. You keep your city, I keep the northern terminals, and the family name remains intact."
Godwin looked down at the mahogany case in his hand. Then he looked at his brother.
"You always were short-sighted, Julian," Godwin said softly. "You thought our father built this family on ledgers and bank transfers."
Julian’s smile faded. "Our father was an illiterate butcher who got lucky on the docks. I modernized this syndicate. Give me the case, Godwin. Don't make me have these men put a round through the child's knee."
Godwin didn't hand over the case. He let it drop.
The heavy box hit the wet timber of the pier with a hollow thud. The brass latches popped open, revealing nothing inside except two bricks of solid lead wrapped in newspaper.
Julian froze. His eyes widened in disbelief. "What is this?"
"I don't negotiate with dead men, Julian," Godwin said.
From beneath the wooden planks of the pier, a sudden, metallic clack echoed through the pilings.
Julian’s head snapped toward the water.
Floating thirty yards off the yacht’s stern, entirely submerged save for their tactical rebreathers, three combat divers from Godwin’s maritime security unit surfaced silently. In their hands were suppressed automatic shotguns and magnetic hull charges, already clamped to the yacht’s bronze propeller shafts.
On the upper deck of the boat, the two guards suddenly crumpled, dropped by silent, high-velocity rifle fire from the estate's lighthouse half a mile away.
Julian scrambled backward toward the gangway, his hand reaching into his camel-hair coat for a weapon. "Shoot him! Kill them both!"
Godwin moved with the terrifying, explosive speed that had made him the unchallenged ruler of three states for twenty-five years.
He didn't draw a gun. He closed the four-foot distance in a single stride, caught Julian by the throat, and slammed his younger brother violently backward against the steel stanchion of the gangway.
Julian gasped, his hands clawing at Godwin’s iron grip, his heels dangling inches above the dark, icy water of the sound.
"You threatened a child in my house, Julian," Godwin whispered into his brother’s ear, his voice flat as an open grave. "You made a maid drink poison meant for me. And you thought you could use my own docks to run your dirty freight."
"Godwin... please..." Julian wheezed, his face turning purple, his aristocratic composure shattering into raw, naked terror. "We're... we're brothers... the Alderbrook blood..."
"The Alderbrook blood died when you faked your crash," Godwin said.
From the deck of the yacht, Kane appeared, having cleared the bridge, carrying Clara securely in his arms, while Dr. Sterling followed with the IV bag held high. Kane gave Godwin a single, sharp nod: the vessel was completely secured.
Godwin looked down into Julian’s bulging eyes.
"Kane," Godwin called out without looking back. "Take Clara and Lottie into the main house. Have the chef prepare dinner for two in the private dining room."
"Yes, Mr. Alderbrook," Kane shouted, escorting the maid and the little girl down the pier toward the safety of the stone estate.
Lottie looked back over Kane’s broad shoulder. Her hazel eyes met Godwin’s across the distance. She didn't look afraid anymore. She gave him a small, solemn nod, clutching her mother’s hand as they disappeared up the garden steps.
Godwin turned his attention back to his brother.
He reached into Julian’s coat pocket with his free hand, pulled out the satellite phone, and flipped it open. On the screen, a new encrypted message was flashing from a secondary IP address in Montreal:
Target confirmed at the dock. Second strike team standing by at the airport.
Godwin slowly eased the pressure on Julian’s throat, just enough to let the younger man drag air into his bruised lungs.
"Julian," Godwin murmured, his steel-gray eyes narrowing as he stared at the screen. "Who is waiting for you in Montreal?"
Julian coughed, a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of his lips, a dark, desperate smile spreading across his ruined face.
"You think this was my idea, Godwin?" Julian rasped, shivering against the cold harbor wind. "You think I came back from the dead alone? Turn the phone around. Look at the sender's seal."
Godwin turned the screen to the light.
May you like
At the bottom of the encrypted dispatch, glowing in pale green pixels, was a signature mark he had not seen in thirty years—the seal of their late father's original partner, a man who was supposed to have burned in a federal prison in 1989.
The wind howled across the dark water, the yacht groaning against its lines, and Godwin Alderbrook realized the war for his family was only just beginning.
