Chapter 4 - The Ghost of the Marlowe Estate
Hector Vance reached the top of the stairs, stepping over the fallen body of his associate without a second glance.
He was a stout, thick-necked man in his late fifties, dressed in a wet trench coat, holding a heavy revolver loosely in his right hand. Two more armed men stood directly behind him, their shadows stretching long across the rain-lit floorboards.
“Vance,” Vincent said, stepping out from behind the pillar, his gun trained squarely on Hector’s chest. “You’re trespassing on private property. Leave now, or none of your men walk off this peninsula.”
Hector chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. “Private property? Don't give me that legal nonsense, Vincent. We both know the law doesn't reach Blackwater Bay.”
Hector’s dark eyes shifted from Vincent to Evan, a cruel, mocking smile spreading across his weathered face.
“Look at you, Evan,” Vance sneered, tilting his head at the scarred twin. “Look at what ten years in the dark does to a man. They told the whole coast you died in that boat explosion off Block Island. We threw flowers in the ocean for you! Your own family put a empty coffin in the ground at the Marlowe mausoleum!”
Savannah gasped softly from her corner, her hand instinctively cupping the back of Lucy’s head.
A buried brother.
It wasn't just a rumor or a hidden secret. Evan Marlowe—Vincent’s identical twin—had been declared dead decade ago. The entire city believed it. The business world believed it.
“He should have stayed dead,” Vincent said through gritted teeth, though his gun hand never wavered.
“Oh, I agree!” Vance laughed sharply. “Because as long as Evan is dead, you get to sit in that big leather chair and play king of the harbor, don't you, Vincent? You get the shipping lines. You get the land. You get the Marlowe fortune all to yourself.”
“That’s not why he stayed hidden, Vance, and you know it!” Evan growled, his jaw tight, the jagged scar stretching pale against his skin.
“Isn't it?” Vance took a small, deliberate step forward. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like Vincent built his whole empire on a lie. And now that the board of directors is asking questions about the old family trusts... well, a living elder brother complicates things, doesn't it?”
“He came to me for protection!” Vincent snapped, his voice ringing with a fierce, protective fury that surprised even Savannah. “He came here because your people hunted him down in Maine!”
“We hunted him down because he owes us what your father took from us!” Vance shouted, his pleasant demeanor vanishing in an instant, replaced by raw, unadulterated violence. “The original deeds to the north docks! The ones your father hid before he died!”
Vance raised his revolver, aiming it directly at Evan’s head.
“Give me the location of the deeds, or I bleed both of you right here on your mother’s expensive rug.”
Before anyone could move, a tiny voice cut through the deadly standoff.
“You’re mean,” Lucy piped up from Savannah’s lap, her small voice clear as a bell in the quiet gallery.
Vance’s eyes flicked over to the corner, noticing Savannah and the child for the first time. A dark, predatory grin spread across his face.
“Well, well,” Vance purred, pivoting his gun away from Evan and pointing it straight at Savannah’s chest. “What do we have here? A little domestic family picture? Is this the new maid you hired, Vincent? She’s a pretty little thing.”
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Evan’s reaction was instantaneous.
He didn't look at Vincent. He didn't look at Vance. He threw his entire body across the open space, tackling Vance to the floor before the older man could pull the trigger.
