Chapter 15
By four o’clock in the morning, the rain had tapered off into a thick, supernatural coastal fog.
The black sedan was parked hidden inside an abandoned boathouse three miles down the beach from Grand Haven.
Charlotte, Marcus, and I walked along the sandy shoreline on foot, obscured by the dense fog bank.
The massive outline of Grand Haven Resort stood illuminated in the distance, surrounded by yellow federal crime scene tape.
Dozens of news vans from Manhattan were parked along the main entrance, their satellite dishes raised toward the sky.
The story had gone global within hours:
FOUNDER OF LUXURY RESORT FRAMED IN $400M FEDERAL FRAUD SCHEME.
We reached the utility access hatch near Pier 4, sliding silently into the resort’s secondary service corridor.
The interior of the building was dark, lit only by emergency exit signs casting green shadows across the marble floors.
Federal agents were stationed at the main front desk, drinking coffee and reviewing guest ledgers.
We moved like ghosts through the back stairwells, heading directly toward the high-security server room beneath the casino floor.
“If Dad forged your digital signature, Amelia, the master encryption key is stored on the mainframe,” Charlotte whispered.
“He couldn't overwrite the physical hard-line server in the basement without being physically present,” I noted.
“Which means his real terminal IP is still logged in the primary system.”
We reached the heavy steel door of the server room, illuminated by a single flickering fluorescent light.
The lock had been disabled by federal agents, the door standing ajar by two inches.
I pushed the door open softly, stepping inside the air-conditioned room filled with humming server racks.
Sitting at the primary administrator console, bathed in the blue light of four oversized monitors, was a man.
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He was in his early sixties, wearing a bespoke gray suit, sipping tea from a china cup.
Arthur Sterling. My father.
