My finger trembled against the trigger, the weight of the gun suddenly foreign in my palm. My father stood before me—the ghost made flesh—his silenced pistol aimed casually at my chest like this was nothing more than a business negotiation gone slightly sideways.
"Put the gun down, Delilah," he said, his voice smooth as aged bourbon. "You and I both know you won't shoot me."
He was right. Despite everything—despite Eleanor's blood coating my hands, despite five years of abandonment, despite the evidence of his crimes—I couldn't pull the trigger. Not on my own father.
I shifted my aim slightly to the left of his shoulder. "Stay back."
His laugh was soft, almost disappointed. "Still the same Delilah. Always threatening, never following through." He took another step forward, moonlight casting half his face in shadow. "You exposed my operations five years ago, but you couldn't finish the job, could you? You left too many threads for me to gather and reweave."
"I didn't know you were alive." The words sounded pathetic even to my own ears.
"Of course you didn't." Another step. "Because you stopped looking. You ran away to New York and built your perfect little life helping rich people hide their dirty laundry." His smile was a predator's. "Like father, like daughter."
Behind him, at the far end of the dock, a shadow moved. Someone was approaching, their footsteps masked by the gentle lapping of water against the pilings. My father was too focused on me to notice.
"Where's Vincent?" I asked, trying to keep his attention. "Eleanor said he was waiting for us."
A flicker of something—concern? annoyance?—crossed his features. "Vincent Blackwood is exactly where he's supposed to be." He gestured with his free hand toward the dark water. "In his grave."
"You're lying." I adjusted my grip on the gun, my palms slick with sweat and Eleanor's blood. "Eleanor was going to take me to him."
"Eleanor has always been delusional when it comes to her husband." He glanced down at her body, still and silent on the dock. "Vincent didn't survive his 'boating accident.' I made sure of that."
From the phone on the dock, I could still hear Vaughn's tinny voice calling my name. My father noticed it then, his eyes narrowing as he bent down and crushed it beneath his polished shoe.
"Vaughn," he sighed. "Another Blackwood man caught in your web. You really do have abysmal taste in men, Delilah. Just like your mother."
The shadow at the end of the dock was closer now. Just a few more seconds.
"Why?" I asked, forcing strength into my voice. "Why frame Vaughn for Ivy's crimes? Taking control of Blackwood Industries through shell companies? Killing Eleanor?"
"Because Vincent's bloodline needed to pay," he said simply. "When I couldn't find him—his body was never recovered, you see—I decided his son would do."
"But Ivy—"
"Your sister understands family loyalty in a way you never have." His tone hardened. "She knew what needed to be done to protect the Kane name. To protect me."
"By framing an innocent man?"
His laugh was sharp. "Innocent? The Blackwoods have never been innocent. Vincent stole everything from me—my company, my research, my wife's affection." The bitterness in his voice was visceral. "Did Eleanor tell you that part? How Victoria never loved me the way she loved him? Even after they both moved on, it was always Vincent she longed for."
The shadow resolved into a figure—Vaughn, moving silently toward us, a gun in his hand. Our eyes met briefly over my father's shoulder, and I forced myself not to react.
"So this was all about revenge?" I kept my voice steady, focusing on my father. "Framing Vaughn for Ivy's crimes? Taking control of Blackwood Industries through shell companies? Killing Eleanor?"
"Business and pleasure, sweetheart." He stepped closer, close enough now that the barrel of his gun nearly touched my chest. "But mainly business. Harbinger Energy was mine. The technology was mine. Vincent stole it all and built his fortune on my work."
"And now you've stolen it back." I needed to keep him talking, give Vaughn time to get closer.
"Reclaimed what was rightfully mine," he corrected. "Tonight's transaction completes the process. By morning, I'll control every aspect of Blackwood Industries, and the Kane Foundation will have served its purpose."
"As your money laundering operation."
"As my redemption." His eyes glittered dangerously. "Now, you have a choice to make, Delilah. Join your sister and mother in the family business, or join Eleanor." He nodded toward the body at my feet.
My stomach lurched. "You'd kill your own daughter?"
"I'd eliminate a liability," he said, and I knew he meant it. "Blood means nothing if it's not loyal."
The gun felt impossibly heavy in my hand. Five more seconds and Vaughn would be in position.
"What about Mother? Does she know what you've done? What you're planning to do to me?"
A flicker of something like regret crossed his face. "Victoria understands sacrifice. She's made plenty for this family."
"She sacrificed me five years ago," I said, the old pain rising like bile. "When she chose to believe Ivy's lies about what I'd done."
"Your sister merely pointed out the obvious—that you were the one who exposed our operations to the feds. That you were a threat to everything we'd built."
Three seconds. Two.
"And now?" I asked. "Am I still a threat?"
"That depends on you." His eyes were calculating, assessing my worth to him. "I could use someone with your skills. Your connections. Your New York reputation would be valuable to the new, legitimate face of our enterprise."
One second.
"And if I refuse?"
Richard's expression hardened. "Then we say our goodbyes right here."
"I don't think so," Vaughn's voice cut through the night as he pressed his gun to the back of my father's head. "Drop the weapon, Richard."
My father went utterly still, but the smile never left his face. "Vaughn Blackwood. Right on cue." He didn't lower his gun. "Have you told my daughter the truth yet? About why you really sought her out six months ago?"
"Shut up and drop the gun," Vaughn growled.
"He knew who you were from the beginning, Delilah," Richard continued, ignoring the threat at his back. "He knew exactly who you were when he approached you at that hotel. When he fed you that touching story about being framed by your sister."
"I said shut up!" Vaughn's voice was tight with barely controlled rage.
A cold feeling spread through my chest. "What's he talking about, Vaughn?"
"Don't listen to him. He's just trying to—"
"Tell her, Vaughn," my father interrupted. "Tell her how you've known about me for years. How you've been hunting me, using my daughter to get to me."
Vaughn's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, and in his silence, I heard the truth.
"Your mother may have kept you in the dark about your father," Richard said, "but she couldn't hide everything from you, could she? You found his records. His notes about me. About what we were working on together before I had to... remove him from the equation."
"Vaughn?" My voice was barely a whisper.
His eyes met mine, filled with conflict and something like regret. "It's not how he's making it sound."
"But you did know," I pressed. "You knew who I was when you came to my hotel room. You knew about my father."
"I suspected," he admitted, his gaze never leaving mine. "I didn't know for certain until I saw how you reacted to the evidence. To Ivy's involvement."
The betrayal cut deep, a knife between my ribs. All this time, I'd thought we were allies against my sister's machinations. Instead, I'd been a pawn in a larger game—my father using Ivy, Vaughn using me, everyone using everyone else in an endless cycle of vengeance.
My father chuckled. "The Kane and Blackwood families, forever entangled. It would be poetic if it weren't so tedious."
"Enough talking," Vaughn snapped. "Drop the weapon or I shoot."
"You won't," my father said with absolute certainty. "Because if you kill me, you'll never find what you're really looking for."
"And what's that?" Vaughn's voice was dangerously soft.
"Your father."
The words hung in the night air, heavy with implication.
"My father is dead," Vaughn said, but uncertainty had crept into his voice. "You just admitted to killing him."
"I said I removed him from the equation." My father's smile was chilling. "I never said he was dead."
"Eleanor said Vincent was waiting for us," I said, the pieces clicking together. "That he had evidence against you."
"Eleanor believed what she needed to believe." My father's eyes never left Vaughn's face. "Vincent Blackwood is alive, but he's not gathering evidence against me. He's in a facility upstate—has been for fifteen years. Locked in his own mind, unable to speak, unable to move. A living ghost."
Vaughn's hand trembled slightly, the only outward sign of the emotional earthquake those words had triggered. "You're lying."
"Am I? Then why has your mother been making monthly trips to the Willowbrook Care Center for over a decade? Who do you think pays those bills?"
I watched the blood drain from Vaughn's face. "That's not possible."
"Quite possible. Harbinger Energy was developing neural interface technology before either of us realized its true potential. Vincent was... let's call him an early test subject." Richard's voice was clinical, detached. "The interface malfunctioned during our final confrontation. Left him trapped in his own consciousness. A vegetative state, the doctors call it, though I know he's still in there somewhere. Watching. Waiting."
Vaughn's control slipped. The gun in his hand wavered.
"I can take you to him," Richard offered. "Right now. Tonight. All you have to do is lower your weapon."
I saw the conflict in Vaughn's eyes—the desperate need to know if his father was truly alive warring with the knowledge that Richard Kane couldn't be trusted.
"Vaughn, don't," I warned. "He's manipulating you."
But I could see the calculation in his eyes. The desperate hope. If there was even a chance...
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" he demanded.
My father reached slowly into his jacket pocket. I tensed, expecting another weapon, but instead he withdrew a small leather wallet. "Your father's. I've kept it all these years." He flipped it open to reveal a faded photograph—a younger Vaughn with his parents, their smiles frozen in time. "Ask yourself—how would I have this if I hadn't been there the day he 'died'?"
Vaughn stared at the photo, transfixed. His gun lowered just an inch.
It was all the opening my father needed.
Richard moved with a speed that belied his age, spinning away from Vaughn's gun while grabbing my wrist in the same fluid motion. Pain shot up my arm as he twisted, forcing me to drop my weapon. In the next instant, I was pressed against his chest, his gun at my temple.
"Now," he said calmly to Vaughn, "let's try this again. Drop your weapon, or I put a bullet through my daughter's brain."
The dock creaked beneath us, the silence broken only by our ragged breathing and the gentle splash of water against the pilings. Eleanor's body lay between us, her blood black in the moonlight, a stark reminder of how quickly Richard Kane could extinguish a life.
Vaughn's eyes met mine, a silent apology in their depths as he slowly bent to place his gun on the dock.
"Kick it into the water," my father instructed.
Vaughn hesitated, then complied. The soft splash seemed to echo across the dark harbor.
"Good boy." My father's voice dripped with condescension. "Now we can have a civilized conversation."
"Let her go," Vaughn said, his hands raised in surrender. "This is between you and me."
"Oh, I think Delilah is very much a part of this." The barrel of the gun pressed harder against my temple. "Aren't you, sweetheart?"
I forced my voice to remain steady. "What do you want?"
"What I've always wanted." His breath was hot against my ear. "For the Kane family to take its rightful place. For your sister's inheritance to be secured. For the Blackwood legacy to be erased."
"My father—" Vaughn began.
"Your father," Richard cut him off, "made the mistake of thinking he could betray me and survive. He was brilliant, I'll give him that. But arrogant. He never saw the trap until it was too late."
My mind raced, searching for options, for a way out. The gun pressed against my head left little room for error.
"What trap?" Vaughn asked, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Harbinger Energy wasn't just about clean energy," my father explained, shifting slightly to maintain his grip on me. "The neural interface was the real breakthrough—a way to connect human consciousness directly to computer systems. Imagine it, Vaughn. The ability to control networks with thought alone. To merge the human mind with artificial intelligence."
"And my father threatened to expose you," Vaughn guessed.
"Your father wanted to weaponize it." Richard's laugh was bitter. "He saw dollar signs where I saw revolution. The military applications alone would have been worth billions. But I knew the technology wasn't ready. The risks were too great."
"So you tested it on him," I said, the horror of it dawning on me.
"It wasn't meant to be a test." For the first time, a hint of regret colored his voice. "We argued. Things got physical. The prototype was damaged during the struggle, and when he connected to it..." He trailed off. "Well, the results were unexpected."
"You destroyed his mind," Vaughn said, his voice hollow. "And then you hid him away while you told the world he was dead."
"I gave him the best care money could buy," my father countered. "I could have let him die that day. Perhaps it would have been more merciful."
I felt his grip loosen slightly as he spoke, distracted by the memories. It was my only chance. I caught Vaughn's eye, trying to telegraph my intention.
"And my mother?" Vaughn asked, picking up on my silent message and keeping my father engaged. "She's known all this time?"
"Eleanor discovered the truth about a year after the 'accident.' She threatened to expose everything unless I ensured Vincent received the best possible care. We reached an... arrangement." His tone suggested the details of that arrangement were complicated. "She's been his faithful visitor ever since, clinging to the hope that someday he'll recover. That the man she loves will return to her."
I tensed my muscles, preparing.
"And will he?" Vaughn pressed. "Is recovery possible?"
"Anything's possible with the right technology," my father said. "In fact, the transaction occurring tonight isn't just about taking control of Blackwood Industries. It's about funding the next phase of research. Neural regeneration. Your father might be the first beneficiary—if you cooperate."
I moved then, driving my elbow hard into my father's ribs while twisting away from the gun. He grunted in pain but didn't lose his grip entirely. The gun went off, the silenced shot barely a dull thud as the bullet splintered the dock inches from our feet.
Vaughn lunged forward, tackling my father. They crashed to the wooden planks, the gun skittering away. I scrambled after it, my fingers closing around the grip just as a deafening crack split the night—not a gunshot, but the sound of ancient wood giving way beneath their struggling bodies.
The section of dock collapsed, plunging both men into the black water below.
"Vaughn!" I screamed, rushing to the edge of the broken planks. The dark surface churned with their struggle, flashlight beams suddenly appearing from the direction of the estate as security guards responded to the sound.
I had seconds to make a decision. The gun in my hand. My father's revelation about Vincent Blackwood. The approaching guards. Vaughn somewhere in the dark water below.
I kicked off my heels and dove.
The cold hit me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. Beneath the surface, everything was black, disorienting. I kicked toward the thrashing sounds, breaking through to gasp a breath and search the darkness.
"Vaughn!"
Something grabbed my ankle, dragging me under. My father's face, distorted by water and rage, loomed before me in the murky blackness. His hands found my throat, squeezing. Panic surged through me as my lungs screamed for air.
I still had the gun. Firing underwater would be useless, but as a blunt instrument—
I brought it down hard against his temple. Once. Twice. His grip loosened and I tore free, kicking desperately toward the surface.
Air rushed into my lungs as I broke through, coughing and gasping. Flashlight beams swept across the water, voices shouting from the shore.
"Vaughn!" I called again, spinning in the water, searching.
"Here!" His voice came from behind me, followed by splashing as he swam toward me.
Relief flooded through me, quickly replaced by urgency. "The guards—"
"This way," he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the opposite shore, away from the estate. "There's a boat. Eleanor had it ready."
We swam in silence, my sodden dress weighing me down, the gun clutched awkwardly in my free hand. Behind us, flashlights continued to sweep the water around the collapsed dock. No sign of my father.
"Did he—" I started.
"I don't know," Vaughn admitted. "He went limp after you hit him, but I didn't stick around to check."
A small rowboat was tethered to a weathered post about fifty yards down the shoreline. Vaughn helped me climb in, then followed, water streaming from his clothes as he grabbed the oars.
"Do you think he was telling the truth?" I asked as we pulled away from shore. "About your father?"
Vaughn's face was grim in the moonlight. "I don't know. But if there's even a chance..." He met my eyes. "I have to find out."
"Willowbrook Care Center," I said, remembering my father's words. "Upstate."
He nodded, rowing with powerful strokes that quickly put distance between us and the Kane estate. "We need to get somewhere safe first. My cabin. It's about twenty miles north. No one knows about it except Cassandra."
I looked down at my hands, still clutching the gun. Eleanor's blood had washed away in the harbor, but I could still feel its phantom stickiness between my fingers.
"You lied to me," I said quietly.
His rhythm with the oars faltered for just a moment. "Not about everything."
"But about why you came to me. About what you knew." The hurt was irrational—I barely knew this man, and yet his betrayal stung more than it should have. "You used me to get to my father."
"At first," he admitted. "When I found my father's old research journals, there were references to Richard Kane. Suspicions that he might not have died in that boating accident. When your father's financial crimes came to light five years ago, I started connecting the dots."
"And then my sister framed you."
"It was the perfect opportunity," he said. "I needed to get close to the Kane family, to see if my suspicions were right. Your sister was too guarded, too controlled. But you—you were the outsider. The one who'd walked away."
"The easy target," I said bitterly.
"The honest one," he corrected. "I needed someone who would recognize the truth when they saw it."
"So everything between us—" I couldn't finish the thought.
Vaughn stopped rowing, letting the boat drift in the gentle current. "Not everything was a lie, Delilah." His eyes held mine in the darkness. "What happened between us wasn't part of the plan."
The memory of his touch, his mouth on mine, flashed through my mind. The desperate heat that had flared between us that night in his apartment, when pretense had given way to something raw and real.
"How convenient," I said, though the sarcasm felt hollow. "You develop feelings for the woman you're using. Makes the betrayal so much easier to stomach."
"I wasn't the only one with secrets," he countered. "You never told me about your suspicions that your father might be alive. About what you really found in his office five years ago."
I stiffened. "How did you—"
"Your reaction when I mentioned the possibility. The way you avoided certain topics." His gaze was penetrating. "We've both been holding back, Delilah. The difference is, I'm willing to admit it now."
The distant wail of sirens carried across the water. Someone at the estate had called the police.
"We need to keep moving," I said, changing the subject. "If my father survived—"
"He'll come after both of us," Vaughn finished grimly, resuming his rowing. "I know."
We fell into silence, the rhythmic splash of the oars the only sound besides our breathing. The shoreline of the Kane estate receded into darkness, the flashing lights of emergency vehicles barely visible in the distance.
I shivered, my wet dress clinging to my skin in the cool night air. Everything had changed in the space of an hour. Eleanor dead. My father revealed as a monster even more calculating than I'd imagined. Vaughn's true motives exposed. And somewhere, possibly, Vincent Blackwood trapped in a broken body, a living ghost with secrets that could destroy both our families.
"What happens now?" I asked, my voice small against the vastness of the night.
Vaughn's expression was resolute in the moonlight. "We find my father. We get the truth. And then we finish what Eleanor started—we bring down Richard Kane, once and for all."
"Even if it means destroying my sister too? My mother?"
His eyes softened slightly. "That's your decision to make, not mine."
I looked down at the gun in my hands, then at the dark water surrounding us. Somewhere in its depths, my father might be waiting, watching, planning his next move. Or perhaps he was gone, truly gone this time, his body drifting with the current toward the open sea.
Either way, I knew with cold certainty that nothing would ever be the same. The Kane and Blackwood families were bound by blood and betrayal, by secrets decades in the making. And I was caught in the middle, torn between loyalty to the family that had abandoned me and the man who had used me—the man I was starting to care for despite every rational thought screaming against it.
As we rowed toward an uncertain future, one thing became clear: the sins we harbor never stay buried. They rise, like corpses in floodwater, to the surface. And when they do, the only choice is to face them—or drown trying to escape.
The question was: which would I choose?