Chapter 12
The trek through the dense Maine pine forest was a brutal, agonizing battle against the elements. The temperature had plummeted significantly below freezing, and the ground was coated in a treacherous layer of slippery pine needles and black ice. Every snapped twig echoed like a gunshot in the silent, oppressive woods. Bennett’s teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and Maren had wrapped her own scarf around his small face to protect him from the biting wind.
Two hours later, exhausted and shivering, they finally stumbled upon the abandoned ranger station. It was a small, dilapidated log cabin nestled deep within a thick grove of ancient evergreens, entirely invisible from the main highway.
Everett forced the rusted lock with the butt of the handgun he had taken from the house. They slipped inside, pulling the heavy wooden door shut. The cabin was incredibly cold, but it provided an essential barrier against the wind. It was completely bare, save for an old cast-iron woodstove, a heavy wooden table, and a few rusted metal chairs.
"We can't light a fire," Sloane said immediately, her teeth chattering. "The smoke from the chimney will be a beacon for Vance’s men. We have to rely on body heat."
Maren pulled Bennett into a corner, wrapping him tightly in a heavy, moth-eaten canvas tarp she found draped over the woodstove. She held him tightly against her chest, rocking him gently in the dark.
Sloane walked over to the heavy wooden table, unzipping her jacket. She pulled out the silver hard drive and a sleek, compact laptop. "My battery is at thirty percent. The extreme cold is draining it faster than usual. We need to look at this now, Everett. We need to know exactly why Richard Vance was willing to burn down a house with a child inside."
Everett stood beside her, watching as the blue glow of the screen illuminated their exhausted faces. Sloane plugged in the drive and ran a decryption sequence she had prepared back in New York. A series of heavily redacted financial ledgers flooded the screen, followed by thousands of internal communications.
May you like
"Look at these wire transfers," Sloane whispered, scrolling rapidly. "Vance wasn't just managing offshore shell companies for your grandfather. He was actively financing armed paramilitary groups in South America and Eastern Europe. He was using the Langford trust to fund political coups, manipulating foreign governments to secure massive, illegal mining and oil contracts."
The realization hit Everett like a physical blow. His family’s wealth wasn't just dirty; it was soaked in global blood.
