When I dragged my waterlogged boots onto the docks of Baltimore after a Category 2 gale on October 14th, my landlord and port developer Harrison Gable was already standing under the harbor lights w...
The phone felt heavy and cold in my hand as I stared at the blank screen, the dial tone a phantom sound in my ear. I’d tried calling the Baltimore Marine Safety Bureau. No one answered. Or rather, no one would speak to *me*.
Every door had been slammed shut the moment Harrison Gable pointed his finger.
A quick search on my old, barely working laptop pulled up the city’s public records database. I typed in Eli’s name.
The official report, dated just twelve hours after the gale, hit me like another storm surge.
“Accidental drowning caused by acute alcohol intoxication.” The words blurred on the screen.
My stomach twisted. Eli never touched a drop of alcohol when he was on a research vessel. Not ever.
The report was signed by Raymond Koster, an insurance adjuster I knew by reputation. He handled all of Gable’s maritime claims. An expedited investigation, it stated, with full certification.
Then, the true shock.
Koster’s report had triggered a $4,000,000 double-indemnity casualty payout, directly to Gable’s real estate firm, Gable Properties LLC.
Four million dollars. Eli was worth more to Gable dead than alive.
My hands clenched, knuckles white against the worn keys. Koster’s office was on the waterfront, just a few blocks from where my boat was still impounded.
I found Koster behind a cluttered desk, piles of water-stained documents obscuring his face. He jumped when my shadow fell across his office door.
“Caleb Ross?” His voice was a nervous squeak. He pushed a stack of files back, revealing a pale, jowly face.
“You signed off on Eli’s death,” I said, my voice low and steady. “Accidental drowning? Drunk?”
Koster’s eyes darted around the small office. “The toxicology report was clear, Mr. Ross. Standard procedure.”
“Eli didn’t drink,” I pushed forward, taking another step. “Not on the water. Not ever.”
Koster pulled a crumpled tissue from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. “Look, I just followed the evidence. There’s a pending murder investigation with your name on it, Mr. Ross. I’m busy.”
He reached for his phone, his hand visibly shaking. “I’ll call the police. You’re a fugitive, you know. An unstable one, from what I hear.”
My blood ran cold. The accusation wasn’t just public; it was now woven into the official narrative. Koster was protecting Gable, and the $4,000,000 payout was the clear motive.
I stood my ground for a moment, letting him see that his threat didn’t scare me, but the frantic panic in his eyes told me I wouldn’t get answers from him. Not this way.
I turned and walked out, the metallic taste of betrayal sharp in my mouth.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours