Chapter 48 - The Road to Ravenscliff
Vance used Davenport's own zip-ties to bind the lawyer's wrists and ankles to the cabin’s heavy iron bedframe.
Within five minutes, Vance had Arthur loaded into the heated cabin of Davenport’s armored pickup truck.
The engine rumbled like a beast, its four-wheel drive clawing effortlessly through the mounting snowdrifts.
Vance floored the accelerator, tearing down the coastal highway toward the jagged black rocks of Ravenscliff Point.
Arthur sat in the passenger seat, his shirt cut open, staring down at the scar above his heart.
"All those years," Arthur whispered, tears freezing on his eyelashes as the windshield wipers slapped rhythmically.
"Every anniversary dinner. Every kiss on the cheek. Every time she told me she loved me..."
Vance kept his eyes locked on the blinding whiteout of the highway.
"She didn't love a husband, Arthur," Vance said grimly. "She was guarding her vault."
"And if she gets to that cutter tonight, she disappears forever," Arthur said, his voice hardening.
"She won't get to the boat without you," Vance pointed out. "Davenport had the scalpel in his glove box."
Arthur looked down at the center console.
A sterile stainless-steel surgical kit sat open on the leather upholstery, its instruments gleaming under the dash light.
Eleanor didn't just want Arthur's silence.
She needed to butcher him on that boat to retrieve the key before crossing into international waters.
Ahead, the black expanse of the Atlantic Ocean crashed violently against the sheer granite cliffs.
Perched at the edge of the jagged promontory stood the Ravenscliff Lighthouse.
Its massive, hundred-foot stone tower loomed like a rotting tooth against the purple fury of the storm.
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At the very top, the great rotating lantern cut through the fog, painting the thrashing sea in blinding sweeps of white.
At the base of the tower, a set of fresh, bloody tire tracks led directly into the open iron courtyard gates.
