The Gate

The impact of the gate sent a jolt through the bike that rattled my teeth, but we were through. I didn't look back at the twisted metal or the man writhing on the gravel. I kept my eyes on the road.

The rain was a solid wall of water, slicing through the headlight beam. I leaned forward, squinting against the spray, the bike's engine screaming beneath us.

"Where are we going?" Arthur shouted in my ear, his voice thin against the wind.

"Away!" I yelled back. "Just away!"

We tore down the winding country road, the slick asphalt treacherous under the tires. I didn't care. I pushed the bike harder, desperate to put distance between us and the inferno consuming the estate.

In the rearview mirror, the orange glow of the fire began to fade, swallowed by the trees and the storm.

We were free.

But for how long?

Richard was hurt, but he was alive. And he had a phone. He would call the police. He would spin a story about a crazy wife and a kidnapped father. He would play the victim.

And Julian?

He was gone. Burned. Buried.

But James... James was still out there. Or was he? I had seen him fall on the bridge. I had seen the blood.

But I hadn't seen him die.

A chill that had nothing to do with the rain crept down my spine.

We needed to get off the road. We needed to hide.

I saw a sign for an old logging trail. *Blackwood Forest Access.*

I slowed down, wrestling the bike onto the gravel path. The tires slipped and slid in the mud, but I kept it upright.

We drove deep into the woods, the trees closing in around us like a cage.

Finally, the path ended at a clearing. An old, abandoned fire tower stood in the center, a skeletal metal structure reaching into the dark sky.

I killed the engine. The silence was deafening, broken only by the hiss of rain on the hot metal.

"We have to climb," I said, helping Arthur off the bike.

He looked up at the tower. "Helen, I can't."

"You have to," I said. "It's the only safe place."

We climbed. It took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of agonizing effort, of Arthur gasping for breath, of me pushing him, pulling him, willing him to take one more step.

When we reached the cabin at the top, we collapsed onto the dusty floor.

It was dry. That was all that mattered.

I dragged myself to the window and looked out.

Below us, the forest stretched out in all directions, a sea of black. In the distance, I could see the faint glow of the town. And further still, the red flashing lights of emergency vehicles on the highway.

We were safe. For now.

"Helen," Arthur whispered.

I turned. He was sitting against the wall, clutching his chest. His face was grey, his lips blue.

"My pills," he said. "In my pocket."

I scrambled to him. I reached into his jacket pocket.

Empty.

I checked the other pocket.

Empty.

"They must have fallen," I said, panic rising. "In the garage. Or the tunnel."

Arthur closed his eyes. "It's okay."

"No," I said. "No, it's not okay. I'll go back. I'll find a pharmacy."

"Helen," he said, grabbing my hand. His grip was weak, trembling. "Listen to me."

"Don't talk."

"I have to," he said. "Before it's too late."

He took a shallow, rattling breath.

"The money," he said. "The gold."

"It's gone, Arthur. It melted."

"No," he said. "That was Simon's gold. The skimming."

He opened his eyes. They were bright, lucid.

"The real fortune... the Vance fortune... it's not in the house. And it's not in the bank."

"Where is it?"

"It's in the water," he said.

I stared at him. "The river?"

"No," he said. "The boat. The *Lady Sarah*."

"The yacht?" I asked. "But that sank. Thirty years ago. With Elizabeth."

"It didn't sink," Arthur whispered. "I scuttled it. In the cove. Deep water."

He squeezed my hand.

"The hull is filled with bearer bonds. Fifty million dollars. Sealed in watertight containers."

"Why?" I asked. "Why leave it there?"

"Insurance," he said. "For the boys. For you. For Maya."

He coughed, a wet, hacking sound.

"The coordinates," he wheezed. "They're in the Bible. The one in my room. The one you read to me."

The Bible.

The one that was currently burning in the house.

"It's gone, Arthur," I said. "The house is gone."

He smiled. A weak, sad smile.

"No," he said. "I memorized them."

He pulled me closer.

"41.5... 72.3..."

He repeated the numbers. A string of coordinates. A map to a sunken treasure.

"Find it," he whispered. "Find it and leave. Take Maya and never come back."

"I will," I promised. "I will."

His grip loosened. His breathing slowed.

"Tell Julian..." he murmured. "Tell him I tried."

"I'll tell him," I lied.

He sighed. A long, shuddering exhale.

And then he was still.

I sat there for a long time, holding his hand, listening to the rain on the roof.

Arthur Vance was dead.

The last patriarch of a cursed dynasty.

I closed his eyes. I covered him with an old blanket I found in the corner.

Then I walked to the window.

The rain was stopping. The clouds were breaking.

A single star shone through the gap.

I looked at it.

"41.5," I whispered. "72.3."

I had the map.

But I didn't have a boat.

And I didn't have Maya.

She was with the police. Or social services. Or Richard, if he had spun his story well enough.

I had to get her back.

I looked down at the forest floor.

The motorcycle was still there.

I had a way to move. I had a target.

But first, I needed a team.

And there was only one person left who hated Richard as much as I did.

I pulled out the burner phone. The one I had taken from Simon.

It was cracked, but it still had power.

I scrolled through the contacts.

*Dr. Thorne.*

I hit call.

It rang once. Twice.

"Hello?"

"It's Helen," I said. "I need a ride."

"Helen?" he said, his voice thick with sleep. "Where are you? The news says..."

"I know what the news says," I cut him off. "I need you to meet me. Bring your boat."

"My boat?"

"The fishing boat," I said. "You told me you go out on weekends."

"Helen, are you crazy? There's a manhunt."

"I have the coordinates," I said. "To the Vance fortune."

Silence on the line.

"Meet me at the marina," I said. "In an hour. Or I call the police and tell them about the unauthorized autopsy you performed on Sarah Miller."

It was a bluff. He hadn't performed it. He had just found the report.

But he didn't know that.

"An hour," he said.

I hung up.

I looked back at Arthur.

"Thank you," I whispered.

I climbed down the tower. I got on the bike.

I had a daughter to save. And a fortune to find.

And God help anyone who stood in my way.