My hands shook, the weight of the letter suddenly immense. The air in the small cabin felt thin, heavy with Arthur’s posthumous accusation. I needed to get this to Nora, to get it out.
Then my phone vibrated, a frantic, insistent buzz in my hand. Then again. And again. A series of banking alerts flashed across the screen, each one a fresh stab of panic.
“Alert: Account XXXX-XXXX Frozen by Corporate Order.”
My personal savings. My checking. Every single account connected, however tangentially, to Kestrel personnel, was now inaccessible. Marcus’s corporate attorneys had secured an emergency court freeze. I had zero cash. No way to hire legal counsel. No way to even buy a cup of coffee.
I was locked out of my own life. My apartment was a crime scene of planted evidence. My face, no doubt, was circulating on local police monitors for corporate fraud. I was a ghost, completely cut off from basic societal infrastructure.
A text from Nora flashed across the screen: *Garrick’s vehicles. Just pulled onto the dock. High-beams sweeping the deck.*
The light. I heard it then, the distant rumble of engines, growing closer. A blinding white light suddenly cut through the porthole, sweeping across the cabin, momentarily illuminating the dusty space like a stage. They were here.
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