Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“The other passage,” Sarah whispered, pointing to a tunnel entrance on the far side of the chamber. “We can circle back.”
But Lily had spotted something that froze her blood. Among the surveillance monitors, one screen showed the entrance they’d used. Another displayed the chamber where they now stood.
They’d been watched from the moment they entered.
The footsteps grew closer, accompanied by voices—two men discussing “security protocols” and “containment procedures.” The clinical language chilled Lily more than direct threats would have.
“Move,” Sarah hissed.
They crept toward the far passage, trying to avoid the surveillance cameras while maintaining enough light to navigate safely. Behind them, the voices grew clearer as their pursuers entered the main chamber.
“Motion sensors triggered fifteen minutes ago,” one voice said. “Two individuals based on heat signatures.”
“Local kids?”
“Possibly. But one matches the profile of the Morgan girl. The one asking questions about lighthouse history.”
Lily’s chest constricted. They knew who she was. They’d been tracking her investigation from the beginning.
The secondary passage proved narrower than the main route, forcing them to move single file through darkness that pressed against them like a living thing. Behind them, flashlight beams swept the main chamber as their pursuers began a systematic search.
“There,” Sarah pointed ahead. “Another opening.”
The passage led to a smaller chamber that served as a storage area. Wooden crates lined the walls, and the air carried a musty smell that suggested long-term use. But more importantly, they could see natural light filtering through cracks in what appeared to be a concealed exit.
“Outside access,” Lily whispered. “We can get out without going back through the main entrance.”
They worked together to shift the wooden barrier that concealed the exit, trying to move quietly while their hearts hammered against their ribs. Behind them, voices echoed through the tunnel system as their pursuers tracked their movement through the surveillance network.
“Containment is preferable to elimination,” one voice said. “But we have authorization for either approach.”
The barrier shifted, revealing a narrow opening that led to the surface. They squeezed through into the cool night air, emerging behind a cluster of bushes that concealed the exit from casual observation.
“The car,” Sarah whispered.
They crept through the darkness, using the lighthouse’s bulk to shield them from the view of anyone emerging from the main tunnel entrance. Lily clutched her camera bag, knowing that the photos she’d taken represented evidence that could expose decades of criminal activity.
They reached Sarah’s car without incident, but as they drove away, Lily spotted two figures emerging from the lighthouse grounds. Even at this distance, she could see that they moved with purposeful coordination.
“They knew we were coming,” she said as they reached the main road. “The surveillance, the way they tracked us—this wasn’t coincidental.”
“Which means they’ve been watching you for weeks.” Sarah’s hands shook on the steering wheel. “Lily, we can’t go home. If they know who you are, they know where you live.”
“Where do we go?”
“Somewhere public. Somewhere safe.” Sarah turned toward the town. “We need to figure out what to do with this evidence before they figure out what to do with us.”
As they drove through the night, Lily stared at her camera bag and realized that her academic research project had become something far more dangerous. The photos she’d taken could expose a criminal network that had operated beneath Westerly Cove for decades.
The question was whether she would live long enough to develop them.
nine
Lily spread the photographs across her bedroom floor. Each image told part of the story: the modified foundation stones, the concealed tunnel entrance, the shipping manifests she’d found in the underground chamber, the correspondence between Winston Aldrich and his contacts in Boston.
Three weeks of investigation had produced enough evidence to destroy Westerly Cove’s most respected family. The question was what to do with it.
Her fingers trembled as she arranged the documents chronologically. The earliest dated back to 1924, when the Aldriches had first established their smuggling operation. The most recent bore last week’s date—shipping schedules for containers that would never appear on any official manifest.
She’d created a color-coded filing system: red for criminal activity, blue for financial records, green for official corruption correspondence, yellow for murder documentation. The yellow folder had grown thick.
Dr. James Whitmore, the maritime historian who’d “drowned” in 1978. Margaret Thornton, the graduate student who’d “disappeared” in 1967. Professor William Morrison, who’d suffered a fatal “heart attack” in 1983, three days after questioning artifact provenance at the town museum.
The pattern emerged once you knew what to look for. Researchers arrived asking questions about lighthouse history. They discovered too much. They died in accidents that local authorities never properly investigated.
Lily photographed each document with her father’s camera, creating backup copies hidden throughout the house. Under the loose basement floorboards. Inside old books on shelves. Tucked behind the water heater where no one would search.
This evidence overwhelmed and terrified her simultaneously. These weren’t historical crimes committed by long-dead people. The Aldrich operation remained active, current, and ongoing. They smuggled stolen artifacts through hidden lighthouse tunnels right now, using methods perfected during Prohibition.