Chapter 20 - The Fire on Black Lake
The water was already knee-deep around the foundation of the boathouse when Daniel slammed the truck into a mudbank.
We jumped out into the freezing deluge, the black water surging against our legs. The wind roared through the pines like a freight train, tearing the leaves from the canopy.
"Sophie!" I screamed into the storm. "Sophie!"
Inside the wooden cavern of the boathouse, the lake water was rising rapidly, lapping against the rotting wooden piers. Suspended over the water, tied to the wooden beam of the old boat winch, was a small wicker chair.
Sitting in that chair, her feet dangling inches above the rising, swirling black water, was Sophie. Her mouth was covered with silver tape, her huge, terrified brown eyes welling with tears.
"Mommy!" her muffled scream cut through the sound of the rain.
"Sophie!" I lunged forward across the wooden gangway.
"Take one more step, Clara, and I cut the winch rope," a voice snarled from the shadows above.
Standing on the mezzanine platform was not Julian Beaumont.
It was Patricia’s personal attorney, Marcus Kane. In his right hand, he held a heavy utility knife resting against the taut braided hemp rope supporting the winch. In his left hand, he held a red road flare, already hissing and spitting bright crimson smoke into the cavernous rafters.
Beneath the platform, floating on the surface of the rising water, were five five-gallon plastic drums, their caps removed. The sharp, suffocating stench of gasoline filled the damp air.
"Marcus," Daniel stepped forward, his hands raised, his voice shaking with desperate pleading. "Whatever Julian promised you, it's over. Patricia was arrested in open court. Hannah Morales testified. The money is frozen!"
"You think this is about the Vance money, Daniel?" Marcus laughed, a sound laced with manic desperation. "Julian doesn't care about the sixty million anymore! Julian owes eight million dollars to the Russian syndicate in Atlantic City. They gave him forty-eight hours. The life insurance policy on Sophie pays out ten million immediately in the event of accidental drowning—and Julian is the sole named secondary beneficiary!"
"She's four years old!" I screamed, tears blinding me. "She has done nothing to you!"
"She was born into the wrong family," Marcus shouted, his face illuminated by the blood-red glare of the flare. "Now, Daniel, you have a choice. Sign this emergency guardianship waiver assigning custody to Julian Beaumont before the lake takes her, or I drop the flare. The gasoline is already spreading. If the water doesn't drown her, the fire will consume this entire house in sixty seconds!"
Daniel looked at Sophie. Then he looked at Marcus.
Then he looked at me.
In that single, fraction of a second, an entire marriage, a lifetime of cowardice, and an eternity of Vance family sin flashed across Daniel's eyes.
"I'll sign it," Daniel said, taking a step toward the mezzanine stairs. "Give me the pen, Marcus."
Marcus lowered the knife slightly, a victorious sneer crossing his face. "Good boy, Daniel. Just like your father—always ready to bend the knee to save your—"
Daniel didn't take the stairs.
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With a roar of pure, feral fury, Daniel didn't reach for a pen. He grabbed the heavy iron mooring cleat bolted to the railing beside him, tore it loose from the rotting pine wood with his bare hands, and hurled his entire two-hundred-pound body across the gap, tackling Marcus Kane off the platform.
***
