Chapter 8 - The Confrontation at the Marina
Eric Vance’s secondary residence wasn't a family home. It was a rented, luxury slipside condo at the Eagle Creek Marina—a place he bought with money he didn't have to project an image he couldn't maintain.
The sun was sinking below the tree line, painting the reservoir in violent streaks of orange and bruised purple. The scent of motor fuel and stagnant lake water hung heavy in the cooling air.
I didn't knock.
The sliding glass patio door facing the dock was unlocked. I pulled it open with a gloved hand and stepped into the living room. The place was a disaster zone: half-packed designer luggage, empty bourbon bottles on the marble kitchen island, and piles of unpaid collection notices scattered across the floor like dead leaves.
Eric was sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands, shaking violently.
When the floorboard creaked beneath my boot, he jumped up with a terrified shriek, knocking an empty glass off the coffee table. It shattered against the hardwood.
“Maya!” he choked out, backing away until his knees hit the arm of the couch. “How... how did you find me? The court order said—”
“The court order applies to you approaching Dad, Eric,” I said, stepping forward into the shadows of the room. “It doesn't protect you from me.”
“I didn't know about the poison, Maya! I swear to God Almighty, I thought she was just giving him herbal sleep drops!” he sobbed, his chest heaving. “She told me we were going to lose the condo! She told me the bookies in Chicago were going to break my legs if I didn't clear the debt!”
“Shut up and sit down,” I ordered.
Eric collapsed back onto the sofa like a marionette with cut strings.
I pulled a thick manila folder from under my arm and tossed it onto the glass table between us. The impact sounded like a gunshot.
“Albright Heritage Trust,” I said. “Blackwood Meridian Holdings. Twenty-two million dollars in fraudulent default claims. You signed an agency acknowledgment three weeks ago, Eric. You authorized an outside predatory syndicate to foreclose on the land Mom and Dad bought before you were even born.”
Eric stared at the folder, his skin turning a sickly shade of gray. “She... she said it was just a legal technicality. She said the developers would buy out the lien for three million dollars, and we’d split it. She said Dad wouldn't even notice because he’d be living in a luxury facility in Florida.”
“He wouldn't be living in Florida, Eric,” I said, my voice dropping into a terrifyingly cold whisper. “He’d be dead within six months. Haloperidol combined with chloral hydrate causes lethal cardiac arrhythmias in geriatric patients with hypertension. That wasn't a sedation plan. That was a slow-motion execution.”
Eric’s eyes bugged out. He clutched his own throat as if he were the one suffocating. “No... no, she wouldn't... she loves me...”
“She doesn't love you, Eric. You were an instrument. A useful, spineless idiot who provided her with legal standing to attack our family’s assets from the inside.” I leaned forward, resting both hands on the table, invading his space until he could see the reflection of his own pathetic, terrified face in my eyes. “And right now, you are facing twenty-five years in federal prison for conspiracy to commit wire fraud, healthcare fraud, and attempted murder.”
“Maya, please!” he cried, dropping to his knees on the glass-strewn floor, grabbing the cuffs of my pants. “Help me! What do I do?! Tell me what to do!”
“Where is she, Eric?”
“She... she went to meet the developer,” he stammered, his tears dripping onto the wood. “At the Meridian Club downtown. The top floor private lounge. She’s meeting Raymond Cross. He’s the CEO of Blackwood Meridian. She has the original promissory note from 1994. She took it out of Dad’s safe last night while I was distracting him.”
“If she hands that original physical note to Cross tonight,” I said, “they record the assignment before midnight. Once it’s recorded with the state registry, unwinding that title will take five years in federal chancery court. By the time the litigation finishes, the developers will have already bulldozed the land and built the logistics hub.”
I yanked my pant leg away from his grasp and turned toward the door.
“Maya, wait!” Eric yelled, scrambling to his feet. “Cross has private security! Real security—ex-military contractors! You can't just walk in there with a badge! They don't care about federal agents!”
May you like
I paused at the threshold of the glass door, looking back over my shoulder into the dark condo.
“Eric,” I said softly. “You spent your whole life being terrified of people who make threats. You forgot that your sister is the one who carries them out.”
