Chapter 4 - Night of the Private Launch
"Lock the vault door!" I ordered Vance.
Vance threw his weight against the heavy iron door, spinning the brass dial until the pneumatic seals slammed back into place with a loud, echoey thud.
"There's a secondary access tunnel," Vance said hurriedly, pointing his flashlight down a dark granite corridor leading away from the east tower. "It leads up into the lower kitchens of the castle. Follow me!"
We hurried up the steep, slick stone steps as the sound of boots marching across the gravel slip outside echoed from above.
My mother's legal team hadn't just brought lawyers; they had brought private estate security—hired muscle used by high-net-worth families to enforce court orders, clear properties, and intimidate unwanted guests.
We reached the kitchen pantry, slipping through a hidden panel into the darkened, quiet expanse of the granite castle.
Through the tall stained-glass windows of the main hall, I could see bright spotlight beams sweeping across the rain-soaked lawn. Two sleek gray security boats were moored against my private dock, their engines idling with a low, threatening thrum.
A voice amplified by a megaphone boomed across the courtyard:
"Jenna Parker! This is Security Director Miller representing the Parker Family Estate Holding Group! We are executing a court-ordered preservation of assets! Open the main doors immediately!"
I walked over to the grand library desk, completely unbothered by the dramatic display outside.
I picked up the landline phone, dialing a private number I had memorized five years ago during a high-stakes maritime fraud investigation in Boston.
The line rang twice.
"Maritime Security Bureau, Federal Region One," a crisp female voice answered. "Director Sterling."
"Director Sterling," I said smoothly. "This is Jenna Vance Parker. Senior Maritime Appraiser, License 409."
A brief pause on the line. "Jenna? It's been a while. Are you calling about the Ravenwick registry dispute?"
"I'm calling to report an ongoing pirate breach of an offshore federal maritime asset," I said clearly, staring out the window as eight armed men in black tactical gear stepped onto my front terrace.
Sterling’s tone shifted instantly from casual to razor-sharp. "Say that again?"
"I am the sole registered deed holder of Ravenwick Island Estate, Port Registry Maine 882," I stated. "I have eight unidentified, heavily armed individuals attempting to breach my private residential perimeter without a valid federal warrant or Coast Guard escort. Furthermore, I am currently holding three transit cases containing unlisted international freight share certificates tied to the Whitmore-Parker Shipping Trust."
"Whitmore-Parker?" Sterling gasped. "The illegal registry case we've been tracking for three years?"
"The very same," I replied. "And my mother, Margaret Parker, just sent her private security team onto my land to destroy the evidence."
"Hold your position in the main structure, Jenna," Director Sterling commanded. "Coast Guard Tactical Air Support is stationed at Portland Naval Base. Heavy cutters are four minutes out."
I hung up the phone just as the heavy oak front doors of the castle splintered inward under the blow of a tactical battering ram.
Security Director Miller—a burly man with a thick neck, wearing a dark tactical jacket with the Parker corporate logo—stepped into the grand hall, flanked by four armed guards holding flashlights and zip-ties.
"Jenna Parker," Miller said, brushing rain off his shoulders as his men fanned out across the marble floor. "You're making this very difficult for your mother."
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I stepped out from behind the library balcony railing, looking down at him with absolute calm.
"You're trespassing on private property, Miller," I said, my voice echoing through the high rafters of the hall. "And in thirty seconds, you're going to realize just how badly Margaret lied to you about what this assignment entailed."
