Chapter 3 - The Race Against the Clock at Lake Livingston
The morning fog clung thickly to the surface of Lake Livingston as Mark Mitchell slammed his battered Ford sedan to a halt beside the rotting wooden structure known as the Vance boathouse.
The property was desolate, surrounded by dense pine forest and rusted chain-link fencing bearing weathered "No Trespassing" signs. According to public records, the land had been seized by the state following Marcus Vance’s mysterious disappearance. But looking at the fresh tire tracks cutting through the mud near the back entrance, someone had been here very recently.
Mark grabbed a heavy crowbar from his trunk, his heart pounding against his ribs. His father’s frantic warning still rang in his ears: “If that book is there, Gavin is innocent.”
He forced the rusted side door open with a deafening screech of rotting hinges. The interior smelled of damp mold, rotting fish, and stagnant water. Dust motes danced in the pale shafts of sunlight piercing through broken roof panels.
Mark navigated the uneven wooden planks carefully, making his way toward the rear mooring post where the old fishing boats used to dock.
The third floorboard.
He dropped to his knees, jammed the flat end of the crowbar into the seam of the thick oak plank, and threw his entire weight downward. With a sharp, cracking splinter of aged wood, the board popped loose, kicking up a choking cloud of dust and dried mud.
Mark reached his hand into the dark, damp cavity beneath the floor.
His fingers brushed against cold plastic, then smooth, worn leather. He pulled it out into the light.
It was a thick, red leather-bound journal.
With trembling hands, Mark flipped open the cover. The pages were filled with meticulous, handwritten columns of numbers, offshore bank account numbers, dates, and names. But it was the entry on the first page that made his breath catch in his throat:
“January 14: Received $250,000 from District Attorney Thomas Vance to falsify the crime scene report at the Henderson residence. Planted Gavin Cole's fingerprints on the ceramic knife. Marcus Vance agreed to testify in exchange for dropped drug trafficking charges. If anyone investigates, pin it entirely on Cole. He’s a nobody with a criminal record; no one will look twice.”
At the bottom of the page was a signature: Captain Edward Sterling, Chief of Police.
Suddenly, a loud click echoed from the doorway behind Mark.
May you like
He whipped his head around. Standing in the entrance, silhouetted against the bright morning light, were two men in dark suits, their handguns drawn and aimed directly at his chest.
"Drop the book, Mr. Mitchell," a cold, unfamiliar voice commanded. "The state of Texas extends its deepest regrets for your untimely accident."
