The Phone Unlock

I didn't run. I couldn't. I was frozen, watching the water swallow my husband.

Richard fell in silence. No scream. No splash. Just a dark shape consumed by the river's black throat.

I gripped the railing, staring down. The current was fast, brutal. He was gone.

"He's not swimming," a voice said behind me.

I spun around.

James was walking out of the mist, lowering a pistol. He looked bored. Like he had just swatted a fly.

"He was always a bad swimmer," he added, holstering the gun. "Dad tried to teach him, but Richard... Richard always sank."

I raised my own gun, but my hand was shaking so hard I could barely hold it.

"You killed him."

"I expedited the process," James said. "He was a liability, Helen. He was going to fold. He was going to give you everything."

He walked toward me, his boots clicking on the metal grate.

"And now, you're going to give me the tablet."

I backed away until my heels hit the bumper of the BMW. "Stay back."

"Or what? You'll shoot me? With that antique?" He laughed. "You have one shot left, Helen. And you're not a killer."

"I shot Simon."

"Simon was an accident," James said, stepping closer. "You panicked. This... this is execution."

He held out his hand.

"The tablet. And the phone. Now."

I looked at the tablet in my hand. The upload was paused. The green bar frozen at 10%.

If I gave it to him, he would delete it. He would erase everything.

And Maya would still be in danger.

"Where is she?" I asked.

"Safe," James said. "For the moment. But my patience is wearing thin."

He took another step. He was close now. Too close.

I could smell the tobacco on his breath. The cold, metallic scent of the rain.

"Give it to me, Helen. And you can walk away. You can go to the cabin. You can take your daughter and leave."

"Leave where?"

"Anywhere," he said. "Just not here. The Vances are done. The house is gone. The money is gone."

"You have the money," I said.

"I have *some* of the money," he corrected. "Arthur was clever. He moved the bulk of it. To a trust."

He smiled, a cruel, sharp expression.

"But I have the key."

He reached for the tablet.

I didn't give it to him.

I threw it over the railing.

It tumbled into the dark water, disappearing instantly.

James stared at the spot where it fell. His face went blank. Then, slowly, he turned back to me.

"That was a mistake," he whispered.

He lunged.

I fired.

The gun kicked in my hand, the sound deafening.

But I missed. The bullet sparked off the metal railing, singing into the night.

James hit me. He slammed me against the car, knocking the wind out of me. The gun flew from my hand, skittering across the wet pavement.

He grabbed my throat, pinning me to the hood.

"You stupid bitch," he snarled, his face inches from mine. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I saved her," I gasped, clawing at his hands.

"You killed her!" he shouted. "The codes were on that tablet! The access key! Without it, the trust is locked forever!"

He tightened his grip. Black spots danced in my vision.

"You think you're smart?" he hissed. "You think you're protecting her? You just buried her alive."

My hand flailed, searching for something, anything to hit him with.

My fingers brushed against something cold. Metallic.

Richard's keys.

I had dropped them when I got out of the car.

I grabbed them. I jammed the largest key—the house key—into James's neck.

He screamed, letting go of my throat. He stumbled back, clutching the wound, blood spurting through his fingers.

I gasped for air, coughing, my throat burning.

I didn't wait to see if he fell. I scrambled for the gun.

I picked it up.

I aimed it at him.

"Stay down!" I rasped.

James was on his knees, gurgling, his eyes wide with shock.

But he wasn't looking at me.

He was looking past me. Toward the end of the bridge.

I turned.

A figure was walking out of the mist.

Small. Soaked. Shivering.

Maya.

She was walking toward us, her eyes vacant, her movements stiff.

"Maya?" I whispered.

She didn't answer. She kept walking.

And then I saw why.

She wasn't alone.

Someone was walking behind her. A shadow in the fog.

Someone holding a gun to the back of her head.

Richard.

He was wet. Muddy. But alive.

He hadn't drowned.

He had swum to the bank. And he had found leverage.

"Drop the gun, Helen," Richard said, his voice calm, terrifyingly steady. "Or I send her to join her mother."