Harper's Point was the kind of place locals warned tourists away from—rocky shoreline, unpredictable currents, and a boathouse that should have been condemned years ago. It was also the perfect spot for a clandestine meeting, far enough from town to avoid prying eyes but close enough that I could claim I was just taking a morning walk if anyone spotted me.
I arrived fifteen minutes early, partly from habit—I was chronically early to everything—and partly to scout the location. Trust issues ran in my blood, apparently. Unlike my sister, I'd never been able to disguise mine behind a pretty smile.
The boathouse leaned precariously toward the water, weathered gray wood almost the same shade as the choppy harbor. Windows crusted with salt barely let in the morning light. I remembered coming here as a teenager, back when the Kane name still opened doors instead of inviting whispers. Back when my father was the town's golden boy instead of its most infamous criminal.
I pushed open the splintering door, the hinges groaning in protest. Inside, the air was heavy with salt and mildew, dust particles dancing in the thin beams of sunlight that managed to break through. An old rowboat listed to one side, half-rotted and forgotten. Coils of rope and ancient fishing gear lined the walls. But it was dry, secluded, and had a clear view of the approach from town—exactly what we needed.
I checked my watch. 9:55. My phone buzzed with a text from my mother, reminding me about tonight's "small gathering." I silenced it without responding. Right now, I had bigger problems than my mother's social machinations.
The sound of footsteps on gravel had me tensing, my hand automatically reaching for my purse. I wasn't armed—had never felt the need in my carefully curated New York life—but survival instincts kicked in here in Blackwater Bay. Old habits, like the scars beneath them, never completely faded.
Vaughn appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the morning light. Gone was the polished financier who'd charmed Blackwater Bay's elite. This Vaughn was harder, sharper at the edges. His expensive clothes had been replaced by dark jeans and a gray henley pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with tension. His eyes swept the boathouse before landing on me, alert and assessing.
"You came." He sounded faintly surprised, as if he'd half-expected me to change my mind.
"I said I would." I kept my voice even, professional. "Did you bring the rest of the evidence?"
He nodded, closing the door behind him and moving further into the dim space. "I keep most of it digital, but I printed key documents. Easier to trace the connections that way."
He set a weathered leather messenger bag on the rickety table between us and pulled out a thick folder. There was something oddly intimate about the moment—just the two of us in this forgotten place, surrounded by shadows and secrets.
"Before we start," I said, "I need to know something."
His eyes met mine, wary but direct. "What?"
"How much of this is about clearing your name, and how much is about destroying my sister?"
A muscle in his jaw ticked. "Does it matter? The end result is the same."
"It matters to me." I crossed my arms. "Revenge makes people sloppy. Clouds judgment. If that's your primary motivation, I need to know."
Something that might have been respect flickered across his face. "Fair enough. Both, if I'm being honest. I want my life back, my reputation. But yes, I want her to pay for what she did."
I appreciated the honesty, even if it wasn't what I wanted to hear. "And what exactly did she do? Beyond framing you for financial crimes."
He ran a hand through his hair, longer now than the carefully styled cut he'd sported at society events. "She didn't just frame me, Delilah. She systematically dismantled my life while pretending to build a future with me."
The bitterness in his voice was palpable, raw enough that I felt an unwelcome twinge of sympathy. I tamped it down. Sympathy was dangerous in my line of work—it clouded judgment just as badly as revenge.
"Let me show you." He opened the folder, spreading documents across the table. "These are just the highlights. Bank transfers, shell companies, offshore accounts—all the things I was accused of. But look at the dates, the account details."
I leaned closer, my shoulder nearly brushing his as I examined the papers. The proximity sent an unwelcome spark of awareness through me. I ignored it, focusing on the documents.
"These transactions started eight months ago," I said, tracing a pattern of wire transfers. "You and Ivy had just gotten engaged."
"Exactly. While she was planning our wedding, she was also planning my downfall." His voice was tight with controlled anger. "She created a perfect paper trail leading back to me, made it look like I was embezzling from my own clients."
"These signatures..." I picked up a document, studying the authorization. "They look authentic."
"They're forgeries. Damn good ones." His fingers brushed mine as he took the paper, sending another jolt through my system. "But look at this."
He pulled out another document, this one showing a series of emails. "These are from Ivy to someone using an encrypted address. I only managed to access a few, but they're discussing the setup."
I scanned the emails, my stomach sinking. The language was careful, coded, but it was clear they were discussing how to manipulate financial records and plant evidence.
"And you think this person is my father?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs.
"The evidence points that way." Vaughn's eyes were intense when they met mine. "The knowledge of financial systems, the intimate understanding of how to create false trails—it's sophisticated work. And there are references to 'our mutual friend in paradise.' Your father was last rumored to be in the Cayman Islands."
I'd heard those rumors too, though I'd tried to dismiss them. The thought that my father might still be pulling strings, might be actively working with Ivy, made me feel slightly ill.
"That's circumstantial at best," I said, though I couldn't quite muster the conviction I wanted.
"Which is why I need your help." Vaughn leaned against the table, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something woodsy and expensive that hadn't changed despite his altered circumstances. "You know how your family operates. You know Ivy's patterns, her tells. Together, we might find the smoking gun."
I picked up another document, needing a moment to think, to process. The evidence was damning, yes, but something still didn't add up.
"Why you?" I asked finally. "Why would Ivy target you specifically? There are plenty of wealthy men in Blackwater Bay she could have framed."
A shadow crossed Vaughn's face. For the first time, he looked away, tension radiating from his shoulders.
"That's... complicated."
"Uncomplicate it." I set the document down, forcing him to meet my gaze. "If I'm going to help you, I need the whole truth. Not just the parts that make you look good."
He exhaled slowly. "It wasn't random. I was chosen because of who I am—who my family is."
"Meaning?"
"The Blackwoods and the Kanes have history. Bad blood that goes back generations." His expression hardened. "Your father and my father were business rivals. When mine died unexpectedly fifteen years ago, rumors circulated that Richard Kane had something to do with it."
I stared at him, genuinely shocked. "That's... I never heard that."
"You wouldn't have. It was kept quiet. But my mother believed it until the day she died." His voice grew quieter. "I never bought into the conspiracy theories. Thought it was grief talking. But now..."
"Now you think my sister targeted you as some kind of... what? Delayed revenge for something my father supposedly did?"
"I think it's more complicated than that. I think your father is using Ivy to tie up loose ends, to eliminate potential threats." Vaughn's eyes held mine. "I was getting close to something in my financial investigations. Something that might have exposed where some of your father's missing millions went."
My mind raced, piecing together this new information with what I already knew. It was wildly implausible, the kind of conspiracy theory that belonged in fiction rather than real life. And yet... it fit the pattern of my family's secrets.
"You have proof of this?"
"Not enough. Not yet." He moved closer, intensity radiating from him. "But with your help, I think we can find it."
I stepped back, needing distance. This was quickly becoming more than I'd bargained for. A simple case of my sister framing her ex was one thing—a conspiracy involving my supposedly dead father and generations of family revenge was something else entirely.
"I need to think about this," I said finally. "This is... a lot."
"We don't have much time." Urgency edged his voice. "The DA is pushing for a quick trial. And if your sister realizes we're working together..."
"I know the risks." I met his gaze steadily. "But I won't rush into anything. I need to verify some of these claims independently."
Frustration flickered across his face, but he nodded. "Fair enough. But be careful. Trust no one in this town, Delilah. Especially not your family."
The warning sent a chill down my spine, not because it was new information, but because I'd already come to the same conclusion.
"I should go." I glanced at my watch. "I've been here too long already."
He caught my arm as I turned to leave, his grip firm but not painful. The contact sent heat radiating up my arm, unwanted and inconvenient. I looked pointedly at his hand until he released me.
"There's something else you should know," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Something I didn't include in the files because it's too dangerous."
I raised an eyebrow. "More dangerous than accusing my sister of elaborate financial fraud?"
"Much more." His expression was deadly serious. "I think the Kane Family Foundation is being used to launder money. Significant amounts of it."
My breath caught. The foundation was my mother's pride and joy, her social redemption after my father's disgrace. The annual gala was the highlight of Blackwater Bay's social calendar.
"That's a serious accusation."
"Which is why I didn't write it down." His eyes didn't leave mine. "The 'irregularities' your mother mentioned at dinner? I'm willing to bet they're connected."
The foundation accounts. Ivy's strange certainty about his guilt. It was all starting to form a pattern I couldn't ignore.
"I'll look into it," I said finally. "Discreetly."
"Be careful." His concern seemed genuine, which made it somehow more unsettling. "Ivy's dangerous when threatened."
"I know my sister better than anyone." I turned toward the door. "I'll be in touch when I have something concrete."
I was almost to the door when his voice stopped me again.
"Delilah." He hesitated, something unreadable crossing his face. "There's one more thing you should know. About why I'm so certain it's your father behind this."
I waited, tension coiling in my stomach.
"The encrypted emails Ivy's been exchanging? They mention you."
Ice slid down my spine. "What do they say?"
"They're concerned about your involvement. About what you might discover if you looked too closely at the foundation's finances." His voice softened slightly. "One of them specifically says, 'If Delilah becomes a problem, we'll handle her the same way we handled her father.'"
The implications hit me like a physical blow. "My father was in on his own disappearance. He wasn't forced out—he planned it."
"That's my theory, yes." Vaughn nodded grimly. "And if you start asking the wrong questions..."
"They'll try to remove me too." I finished the thought, mind racing. "Who else has seen these emails?"
"No one. I didn't think it was safe to share them with my lawyer." He reached into his bag, pulling out a small USB drive. "This has everything—including the emails. Keep it somewhere secure."
I took the drive, my fingers brushing his. This time, I didn't pull away immediately, something shifting in the air between us.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked quietly. "You could use this to destroy my entire family. Why warn me instead?"
His eyes held mine, unexpectedly vulnerable. "Because despite everything, I don't think you deserve to be collateral damage in whatever game your sister and father are playing. And maybe..." He seemed to choose his words carefully. "Maybe I'm tired of everyone in this town being caught in the crossfire of family vendettas."
It was the most honest thing he'd said all morning, and it left me momentarily speechless. I slipped the drive into my pocket, hyperaware of its weight.
"Thank you," I said finally. "I'll be in touch."
The sunlight outside was almost blinding after the dimness of the boathouse. I squinted against it, trying to clear my head. The information Vaughn had shared felt too enormous to process all at once—my father, alive and conspiring with Ivy; the foundation possibly laundering money; a threat against me if I got too close to the truth.
And beneath it all, the lingering awareness of Vaughn himself—the tension in the air when we stood close, the way his touch sent heat through my system despite every logical reason to keep my distance. It was a complication I didn't need.
I started down the path toward town, mind racing with possible next steps. So focused on the revelations of the past hour, I almost missed the subtle sound behind me—a twig snapping, the whisper of movement.
I turned sharply, scanning the treeline, but saw nothing. Still, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. The feeling of being watched crawled across my skin.
I quickened my pace, taking a different route back to town than the one I'd used to arrive. Paranoia, maybe, but paranoia had kept me alive in the cutthroat world of crisis management. And if Vaughn was right, I had more to fear in Blackwater Bay than just gossip and old memories.
By the time I reached the main street, the feeling had subsided, but the unease lingered. I checked my phone to find three missed calls from my mother and a text from an unknown number—Vaughn's burner phone, presumably.
*Watch your back. We might not be the only ones interested in the boathouse today.*
So he'd felt it too. The knowledge did nothing to ease my nerves.
I stopped at a café, ordering coffee I didn't want just to have a reason to sit and observe the street. No one seemed to be following me, but in a town this small, they wouldn't need to. News traveled faster than feet in Blackwater Bay.
As I waited for my coffee, I pulled out my own phone and called my assistant in New York.
"Maya, I need you to do some quiet digging." I kept my voice low, watching the door. "Pull everything you can on the Kane Family Foundation's financial records for the past five years. And I need information on any large transactions between Kane accounts and offshore entities, particularly in the Cayman Islands."
"That's going to raise flags," she warned.
"Use back channels. And Maya? This stays between us."
"Always does, boss." She paused. "Everything okay down there?"
"Fine," I lied smoothly. "Just being thorough."
After ending the call, I sipped my coffee, trying to appear casual while my mind worked through the implications of everything I'd learned. If the foundation was laundering money, the upcoming gala would be the perfect cover for a major transaction. I needed access to those accounts, needed to see the "irregularities" for myself.
Which meant attending my mother's "small gathering" tonight after all.
I grimaced at the thought. Playing nice with Blackwater Bay's elite while secretly investigating my own family wasn't my idea of a pleasant evening. But it might be my only chance to get close to Ivy, to observe her in her natural habitat and look for cracks in her performance.
As I left the café, my phone buzzed again. Another text from Vaughn's number:
*Be careful tonight. She'll be watching you closely.*
I frowned. How did he know about the gathering? But of course—Blackwater Bay. Everyone knew everything, or thought they did.
I typed back quickly: *I can handle my sister.*
His response was immediate: *It's not just your sister I'm worried about.*
The ominous message lingered in my mind as I walked back to the hotel. Who else should I be watching for? What other players were involved in this elaborate game?
One thing was becoming painfully clear: I'd come to Blackwater Bay to manage a crisis, but I was rapidly becoming entangled in something much more dangerous. The smart move would be to walk away, to return to New York and my carefully constructed life.
But I'd never been very good at walking away from the truth, no matter how ugly it might be. That stubbornness had cost me my family once before. This time, it might cost me much more.
Back in my hotel room, I locked the door and checked for signs of entry—a habit I'd developed years ago during a particularly nasty corporate espionage case. Nothing seemed disturbed, but I couldn't shake the feeling of exposure, of vulnerability.
I hid Vaughn's USB drive in the hollow heel of my left boot—an old trick from my early crisis management days. Then I pulled out my laptop and began my own analysis of the documents he'd shown me, looking for patterns, for inconsistencies, for anything that might help me separate fact from fiction.
The evidence was compelling. Too compelling, almost—the paper trail was perfect, the connections clear. That kind of perfection raised red flags in my mind. Real criminal activity was usually messier, with loose ends and gaps.
Unless, of course, the person behind it had years of experience in financial fraud. Someone like my father.
The thought made my stomach clench. I'd spent five years convincing myself he was gone, possibly dead, definitely out of my life. The idea that he might still be pulling strings, might be actively working with Ivy to target Vaughn and potentially me...
My phone rang, cutting through my thoughts. Ivy's name flashed on the screen.
I took a deep breath, schooling my features into neutrality even though she couldn't see me. Old habits.
"Hello, Ivy."
"Dee!" Her voice was bright, excited. "I've been trying to reach you all morning. Where have you been?"
"Working," I said smoothly. "Drafting statements, making calls. You know, the job you brought me here to do."
"Well, I'm glad I caught you. I need your help with something for tonight." The eagerness in her voice sounded genuine. "Could you come to the house early? Say, four o'clock? I want to show you the guest list, get your opinion on who needs special handling."
It was a reasonable request, the kind of thing a crisis manager would normally handle. It was also a perfect opportunity to get access to the house, maybe even to the foundation records.
"Sure," I said, keeping my tone casual. "I'll be there."
"Perfect! Oh, and Dee? Wear the navy Valentino. You always look killer in it, and God knows you need to make an impression after being gone so long."
The casual presumption that I'd brought formal wear for what was supposed to be a brief business trip, the subtle dig about my absence—it was pure Ivy, the sister I remembered.
"I'll see what I brought," I said noncommittally.
After we hung up, I stared at my phone, replaying the conversation. Had there been anything unusual in her tone, any hint that she suspected I'd been meeting with Vaughn? Nothing obvious, but Ivy had always been skilled at hiding her thoughts behind a bright smile.
My phone buzzed with a text. Vaughn again:
*Don't go to the house alone.*
A chill ran down my spine. How did he know about Ivy's invitation? Had he bugged my phone? Or was he just making an educated guess based on what he knew of my sister?
I typed back: *Why not?*
His response took longer this time: *I've been watching the house. Strange cars coming and going at odd hours. People who aren't from Blackwater Bay. Be careful, Delilah. Please.*
The "please" caught me off guard. There was genuine concern in that simple word, concern I wasn't sure I'd earned. It made the whole situation more complicated, added an unwelcome layer of emotion to what should have been a straightforward investigation.
I set the phone down without responding. I needed to focus, to think clearly without the distraction of Vaughn Blackwood and his warnings, his intensity, the unwelcome attraction that sparked between us despite every logical reason to keep my distance.
The files on my laptop swam before my tired eyes. So many connections, so many possibilities, all pointing toward a conspiracy I wasn't sure I wanted to unravel. Because if Vaughn was right, if my sister and father were involved in something this dark, this criminal...
What did that make me, the person who'd suspected the truth all along but had run away instead of facing it?
I closed the laptop, suddenly exhausted. I had a few hours before I needed to be at the Kane estate. A few hours to decide how far I was willing to go to uncover the truth, and what I would do with that truth once I found it.
As I lay back on the hotel bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something important. Something that would make all these disparate pieces fit together. Something that would explain why my sister would risk everything to frame Vaughn, why my father might still be pulling strings from the shadows.
Something that would explain why, despite everything, I couldn't stop thinking about the way Vaughn had looked at me in the boathouse, like I was both a solution and a problem he couldn't quite solve.
I closed my eyes, allowing myself a moment of weakness. Because tonight, I would need to be stronger than I'd ever been. Tonight, I would be walking into the lion's den, armed with suspicions but few concrete facts. Tonight, I would come face to face with the family secrets I'd been running from for five years.
And this time, running away wasn't an option.