Part 17: The Inlet Execution
## Part 17: The Inlet Execution
The diesel engines of The White Orchid shrieked as Julian threw the throttles into reverse.
The hull fish-tailed violently, the steel propellers churning the shallow water of the inlet into a white froth of sand and foam.
"He's going to ground us!" I yelled, my hand reaching for the master breaker switch on the side panel.
Julian caught my wrist, his fingers digging into my skin with a sudden, vicious strength that reminded me of Theodore’s grip at the altar.
"Get away from the board, Cora!" he roared.
"If I hit the sand, the fuel tanks will breach! We’ll all go down together!"
I didn't try to pull away from his grip.
I used my other hand—the one holding my grandfather’s silver shuttle—and jammed the pointed metal tip directly into the main wiring bus of the steering column.
SPARK.
A bright flash of blue electrical fire erupted from the dashboard, filling the cabin with the sharp, chemical smell of burning plastic.
The navigation screens went black.
The hydraulic steering went dead.
The white cruiser veered hard to the right, its fiberglass bow striking the concrete jetty of the inlet with a deafening, grinding crunch that tore the entire lower hull open.
CRASH.
I was thrown forward, my head hitting the leather dash before I slid into the pool of water that was already rushing through the broken floorboards.
Julian fell backward into the console, his crystal glass shattering beneath his weight, his white hair immediately soaked in blood from a deep cut above his temple.
The boat was sinking fast, the nose dipping into the dark water of the channel as the current pulled us toward The Emerald Empress.
A shadow fell across the broken windshield.
Liam.
He didn't use a rescue line. He dropped down from the lower tender deck directly onto our listing bow, his grey linen suit soaked by the salt spray, his hand holding a tactical breaching axe.
He shattered the glass with two strokes, reaching through the frame to grab my waist, pulling me out into the cold ocean air just as the stern of The White Orchid disappeared beneath the surface.
"I have you, Cora," he whispered into my hair, his chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm as he held me against his wet jacket.
"The ledger is safe."
May you like
"My father?" I gasped, looking down at the dark swirl of oil where the boat had been.
"Marcus has him," Liam said, pointing to the rescue launch where Julian Rossi was currently being hauled over the rail in plastic zip-ties, his old-money presentation completely dissolved into the black water of the inlet.
