Chapter 6 - The Hidden Sanctuary
The wind blew fiercely off the ocean, sending whitecaps crashing against the jagged black rocks at the base of the cliff. The old lighthouse stood tall against the bruised twilight sky, its whitewashed paint peeling after decades of salt air exposure.
Detective Miller led the way up the spiral iron staircase inside the lighthouse, his flashlight cutting through the thick darkness and floating dust motes. I followed closely behind, my heart pounding in my throat with every step.
"Stay behind me, Shayla," Miller instructed as we reached the top observation deck.
The wind howled through the iron railings outside. Miller knelt down by the wooden steps leading up to the glass lantern room. He pried up the third step with a crowbar. Beneath the rot-weakened timber sat a rusted iron box, exactly as Malia had described in her letter.
Miller reached in and pulled out a heavy, waterproof silver flash drive wrapped in thick plastic sheeting.
"We got it," Miller said, looking back at me with a rare, approving smile. "This is the final nail in his coffin. With this encryption key, federal agents can access his primary offshore accounts and track every single payment he made."
Suddenly, a loud crack echoed from the bottom of the staircase, followed by the metallic clang of heavy boots ascending the iron steps.
Miller instantly drew his sidearm, positioning himself between me and the doorway. "Police! Who’s there? Show your hands!"
A shadowy figure emerged from the stairwell into the dim light of the observation deck. The beam of Miller’s flashlight hit the man's face, revealing hollow eyes, unkempt stubble, and a desperate, frantic grin.
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It was Richard Vance.
"Put the gun down, Miller," Richard barked, his voice hoarse and trembling with rage. He raised his right hand, revealing a dark metallic revolver aimed directly at us. "I knew she would leave something here. I followed your police radio chatter. Give me the drive, or neither of you leaves this tower alive!"
