Chapter 6 - The Trace
The library had emptied of guests ten minutes earlier. Marcus had escorted the stunned family members and business partners out through the side courtyard, leaving only Daniel, Rachel, myself, and my daughter Zoey—whom Marcus had kindly carried out to the staff cottage so she wouldn't have to witness the wreckage.
Vanessa remained seated on the floor against the library door, her designer silk dress ruined by dust, her hands cuffed behind her back by Rachel’s zip-ties while we waited for the state police to arrive.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Daniel,” Vanessa hissed, her voice dripping with a bitter, defeated malice. “David didn't plant me here. He walked away because you were running the company into the ground with your rigid, self-righteous rules. He hated you. He always hated you.”
Daniel didn't look at her. He stood behind Rachel’s shoulder as she navigated the complex web of encrypted proxy servers on the terminal.
“Got it,” Rachel said suddenly, hitting a final keystroke. “The Zurich proxy just routed a secure packet to a domestic IP address. Less than forty miles from here.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”
“The old lighthouse property on the north cliff,” Rachel answered, pointing to a glowing GPS coordinate map on the screen. “The one your family abandoned after the zoning dispute five years ago. It’s registered under an off-shore trust, but the power bills are being paid by a personal account under David’s alias: Arthur Vance.”
Marcus Reed re-entered the library, having finished seeing the last of the guests off. He slammed his car keys down on the mahogany table.
“I’m coming with you, Dan,” Marcus said firmly. “David was my friend too. If he’s alive and playing this sick game while you’ve been mourning him for six years, I want answers just as badly as you do.”
Daniel reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a heavy .45 caliber Sig Sauer pistol—the same weapon he kept in his bedside safe. He checked the magazine, slid it home with a sharp, metallic snap, and tucked it into his holster.
“Rachel, stay here with the local police when they arrive,” Daniel instructed, his voice like cold steel. “Hand over the footage of Vanessa and the server logs of David’s IP trace.”
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“Boss, you shouldn't go alone—” Rachel started to protest.
“I’m not going alone,” Daniel said, looking at Marcus. “Marcus is driving. And Marcus... make sure you bring the heavy tactical gear from the estate armory. If David has been hiding out in that lighthouse for eighteen months, he isn't baking cookies.”
