Chapter 38 - The Sovereign Protocol
The boathouse went dead silent except for the fading gurgle of the receding water.
Sarah and I hauled Evelyn up onto the solid timber platform. My mother collapsed into a shivering, sodden heap, vomiting lake water, clutching her waterlogged Bible like a newborn child. Her vanity, her arrogance, her self-righteous sneer—all of it had been completely washed away, leaving behind a pathetic, broken shell of an old woman.
Above the boathouse, the sound of heavy industrial machinery abruptly stopped.
Sarah Vance stepped to the outer dock, her satellite phone finally blinking green as the jammer was switched off by Clara’s fleeing mercenaries.
"This is Special Agent Vance," Sarah spoke clearly into the receiver. "Federal tactical units, converge on Vance Lake House. Clara Vance is down, presumed dead in the subterranean drainage corridor. Detain Sheriff Miller and all county personnel on scene for federal obstruction, treasonous conspiracy, and attempted murder."
Within ten minutes, the sky above the lake was torn open by the deafening chop of twin Blackhawk helicopters bearing the seal of the Department of Justice. Federal tactical agents in full combat gear descended via fast-ropes onto the gravel driveway, surrounding Sheriff Miller’s deputies before they could even draw their service weapons.
I walked up the stone steps from the boathouse, my clothes soaked in lake water and grease, holding Helen’s brass key in my hand.
Sheriff Miller was already face-down on the crushed gravel, his hands zip-tied behind his back, staring up at me with terrified eyes.
"Riley... please," Miller stammered. "Clara had leverage on my family... she had mortgages on every home in the county..."
"Tell it to the federal grand jury, Sheriff," I said coldly, walking past him into the ransacked living room of my home.
Evelyn was escorted out by two federal paramedics, wrapped in a gray shock blanket. As she passed me on the porch, she stopped. Her eyes met mine—not with venom, but with an overwhelming, suffocating shame.
"Riley..." she whispered, her voice cracking. "I... I have nowhere to go. The church... the house in town... they took it all."
"You have a cell waiting in Boise next to Robert," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "You can preach to him through the bars."
May you like
She lowered her head, weeping silently, as the agents guided her into the back of an unmarked transport van.
***
