Chapter 13
"Celeste found out," Everett murmured, his eyes scanning the horrifying digital paper trail. The blue light cast deep, tired shadows across his face. "My grandmother realized the trust was being used to fund international terrorism. She got cold feet. She wanted to pull the plug, completely liquidate the assets, and donate the remaining funds to charity before the feds could trace the blood money back to our family."
"And that is exactly why they killed her," Sloane concluded, her voice devoid of emotion, hardened by years of dealing with corporate psychopaths. "Vance couldn't let her destroy the syndicate's primary funding source. He murdered her, framed it as an accident, and then tried to legally tie up the trust so you couldn't access the ledgers."
"Until I started asking the wrong questions," Everett said, a bitter, cold anger settling deep in his chest. "We are dealing with a massive, highly organized global syndicate. Vance isn't the mastermind; he is just the regional fixer. If they are willing to destabilize entire foreign governments, they will never, ever stop hunting us for this hard drive."
Outside, the wind howled fiercely through the pine branches, but a different, far more terrifying sound caught Everett's attention. It was the faint, rhythmic crunching of heavy boots breaking through the frozen underbrush.
Everett killed the laptop screen instantly, plunging the small cabin back into absolute darkness. He moved silently to the small, grimy window, peering out through a crack in the wooden shutters. In the distance, approximately a hundred yards away, three distinct beams of tactical light were sweeping methodically through the dense trees.
"They tracked our footprints in the frost," Everett whispered urgently, gripping the cold steel of the handgun. "They are moving slowly, checking every thicket. We have maybe ten minutes before they discover this cabin."
"We can't outrun them in the dark," Maren said, her voice shaking but resolute as she held Bennett tighter. "Bennett is freezing, and we are completely exhausted. They have night vision and tactical gear."
"We aren't going to run," Everett said, a dangerous, reckless plan forming in his desperate mind. He looked at Sloane. "You need to get a signal out to your contacts at the FBI. I don't care what favors you have to call in. I am going to buy you the time."
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"Everett, what are you doing?" Maren pleaded, reaching out to grab his sleeve.
"I am going to lead them away from the cabin," he said, checking the magazine of the handgun. "Keep the doors locked. Do not make a single sound."
