Sixteen-year-old Toby Gentry races to uncover $4.2 million in stolen underworld assets after his pregnant sister-in-law disappears from a locked Charleston cellar, exposing a deadly family conspira...
The cold sweat on my back had nothing to do with the dampness of the tunnel. It was pure shock. Maeve, the victim, the pregnant bride, was actually orchestrating this entire collapse.
I pushed myself forward, stepping into the faint light of a hidden, crude chamber carved into the foundations. Maeve stood there, her back to me, holding a small, leather-bound book. The man she was with, a burly figure with a scar above his eye, turned sharply, his hand going to his hip.
“Maeve!” I blurted, my voice cracking. “The deeds! Give them back!”
She spun around, her eyes widening for only a second before a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “Toby Gentry,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Such a brave little boy. Snooping around in the dark.”
The man, whoever he was, looked at Maeve, waiting for a command. She just shook her head slightly.
“You really think I was locked away, don’t you?” Maeve laughed, a harsh, brittle sound that grated on my ears. “Julian, Evelyn—they were so predictable. So easy to manipulate.”
She waved a hand at the empty wall safe, now visible in the flickering light of a single bare bulb. “They wanted to lock up the ‘problem,’ didn’t they? And I gave them exactly what they wanted. Access.”
“You drained our accounts,” I accused, my voice barely a whisper. “You stole everything.”
“Everything you people stole from Silas, yes,” she corrected, her eyes flashing. “Every last cent. The bank accounts, the properties, the future. Zeroed out. Gone.”
The man beside her gave a low whistle. “Clean sweep.”
“This family,” Maeve said, gesturing around the damp, hidden chamber, “built its empire on lies and stolen legacies. I merely facilitated its true owner taking what was rightfully his.”
She walked toward me, her gaze piercing. “Your stepbrother, Julian, is bankrupt. Your matriarch, Evelyn, will be left with nothing but old bones and a house full of ghosts. And you, Toby? The naive child caught in the middle.”
She stopped just inches from me. I could smell the faint scent of jasmine, strangely out of place in the grimy tunnel.
“But you’re a survivor, aren’t you?” she mused, a glint in her eye. “Like me. So, here’s an offer: help me get out of Charleston. The Gentry family is finished. But you and I? We could walk away. Half of the funds. $2.1 million, just for you. A clean slate, far from this toxic mess.”
She held out a hand, not to me, but toward the tunnel exit. “What do you say, Toby? Do you want to cling to a sinking ship, or do you want to start fresh?”
The man beside her watched my face, his hand still resting on the weapon at his hip.
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