Chapter 19 - The Gathering of the Vultures
By Sunday evening, the pressure had reached a boiling point.
Marcus had filed emergency cease-and-desist orders against the social media platforms, but the algorithm moved faster than the legal system. Two carloads of self-righteous vigilantes had already been turned away from my private road by the local sheriff’s department, who were growing increasingly frustrated by the around-the-clock patrol calls.
"You need to leave the property for a few days, Riley," Marcus urged over the phone, his tone dead serious. "Get a hotel room in Spokane under an assumed name. Let the feds unseal the indictment on Wednesday. Once the full charges against Evelyn are made public, this social media madness will collapse under its own weight."
"No," I said, looking out the panoramic windows at the moon rising over the dark water. "If I run, Marcus, she wins the narrative. She’ll claim she drove the 'guilty daughter' out of the family seat. This house belonged to Helen Vance. My grandmother built this place with her own sweat, and I am not abandoning it to Evelyn's digital lynch mob."
"Riley, she’s unhinged. She has nothing left to lose. People with nothing left to lose don't play by the rules of probate or public opinion."
"Neither do I," I said, and hung up.
I checked every lock on the property. I engaged the perimeter security cameras, verifying the infrared feeds on my tablet. I made sure the exterior floodlights were set to motion-detection.
Leo wanted to stay, but I ordered him to stay at his trade school dormitory in Coeur d’Alene. He had his probation hearing on Thursday; I would not allow his presence here to give Evelyn’s online lynch mob any more ammunition.
At 11:30 PM, the storm arrived.
The Pacific Northwest sky opened up with a ferocious mountain deluge, rain hammering against the metal roof of the lake house like a continuous burst of machine-gun fire. The wind wailed through the tops of the towering pines, violently thrashing the heavy branches against the dark sky.
Then, with a sudden, deafening *snap*, the power cut out.
The house plunged into impenetrable, pitch-black silence.
The backup generator should have kicked on within four seconds. It didn't.
I grabbed my flashlight and moved to the kitchen window overlooking the mechanical shed. The green indicator light on the generator transfer switch was completely dead. Someone had cut the master feeder cable.
A sudden, sharp metallic crash echoed from the basement utility door below.
May you like
They were inside.
***
