Chapter 9: The Island of Secrets

The storm showed no signs of stopping.

Rain hammered the small Caribbean island where Adrian's emergency landing had brought them. In the distance, lightning illuminated the silhouette of the Collector's estate.

The mansion sat atop a cliff overlooking the ocean.

Massive.

Elegant.

Terrifying.

'Looks like a villain's castle,' Lena muttered.

'That's because it basically is,' Detective Harris replied.

Adrian stood near the shoreline, studying the island through binoculars.

'Three security towers.'

'Two private docks.'

'At least a dozen guards.'

'And that's only what we can see.'

Lena folded her arms.

'Please tell me we have an actual plan.'

'We do.'

'A good one?'

'Not particularly.'

'Wonderful.'

Thirty minutes later they were crossing the water in a stolen fishing boat.

Rain concealed them.

Darkness protected them.

The waves nearly drowned them.

But eventually they reached the island.

The estate looked even larger up close.

Stone walls surrounded the property.

Security cameras covered every entrance.

Luxury cars lined the driveway.

Money was everywhere.

The kind of money that bought silence.

The kind that buried crimes.

The kind that had protected Marcus Monroe for six years.

Harris checked his weapon.

'Once we're inside, everything changes.'

Adrian nodded.

'We find Marcus.'

'We find the Collector.'

'And we release the files.'

'Exactly.'

Lena looked toward the mansion.

'Let's finish this.'

Using a maintenance tunnel discovered on old property blueprints, they entered the estate undetected.

The tunnel led beneath the main building.

Cold concrete walls stretched into darkness.

Water dripped from rusted pipes.

The atmosphere felt more prison than mansion.

Halfway through the tunnel, voices echoed above them.

'The transfer happens tonight.'

'What about Blackwood?'

'The Collector will handle him personally.'

The voices faded.

Adrian's expression hardened.

'We're close.'

At the end of the tunnel they discovered a hidden staircase.

It led directly into the basement.

The basement wasn't what Lena expected.

It wasn't storage.

It wasn't wine.

It wasn't maintenance equipment.

It was a vault.

Rows upon rows of filing cabinets filled the room.

Photographs.

Documents.

Hard drives.

Boxes.

Thousands of secrets.

'My God,' Harris whispered.

'This is why they call him the Collector.'

Lena slowly walked between the shelves.

Each cabinet carried labels.

Politicians.

Judges.

Celebrities.

Corporate executives.

Every powerful person imaginable.

The Collector wasn't collecting money.

He was collecting leverage.

'Blackmail,' Lena realized.

'Exactly,' Adrian said.

'Power built on secrets.'

Then she noticed something.

A cabinet labeled:

'BLACKWOOD.'

Her heart skipped.

'Adrian.'

He approached immediately.

Inside were hundreds of files.

Private photographs.

Business records.

Family information.

Years of surveillance.

'He's been watching you for a long time.'

'Apparently.'

Then Lena found another folder.

One name.

'Celeste Monroe.'

The room fell silent.

Adrian opened it slowly.

Inside was a photograph.

Recent.

Far more recent than six years ago.

The color drained from his face.

'That's impossible.'

'What?' Lena asked.

He handed her the picture.

Her breath caught.

The woman in the photograph looked exactly like Celeste.

Alive.

Standing beside Marcus Monroe.

The date stamp showed only eight months earlier.

'No,' Harris said immediately.

'That's not possible.'

'We found human remains.'

'We found her charm.'

'We found the grave.'

Yet the evidence sat right there.

A photograph.

Recent.

Undeniable.

Lena looked at Adrian.

'Either someone is lying...'

'Or someone isn't dead.'

Before anyone could respond, a slow clap echoed through the vault.

All three froze.

The sound came from the shadows.

'Congratulations,' a calm voice said.

'You've made it farther than most.'

A man stepped into the light.

Mid-fifties.

Silver hair.

Expensive suit.

Perfect posture.

Dangerous eyes.

The Collector.

He smiled pleasantly.

As if greeting guests at a dinner party.

Not enemies.

'Adrian Blackwood.'

'I've been looking forward to this conversation.'

Harris immediately raised his weapon.

'Don't move.'

The Collector laughed softly.

'Detective, if I intended to run, I wouldn't be standing here.'

'Where's Marcus?' Adrian demanded.

'Busy.'

'Where is he?'

'You'll see him soon enough.'

The Collector's gaze shifted toward Lena.

'And you must be Mrs. Blackwood.'

'I've heard so much about you.'

'That's unfortunate.'

The Collector smiled.

'I like her.'

'That's not mutual,' Lena replied.

For the first time, he actually laughed.

'Excellent.'

'I appreciate honesty.'

Adrian stepped forward.

'The game is over.'

'No.'

The Collector shook his head.

'The game is only now becoming interesting.'

Then he pointed toward the photograph.

'Tell me, Adrian.'

'How certain are you that Celeste Monroe is dead?'

The question hit like a bomb.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

Because deep down, every one of them knew the same thing.

If the Collector was asking that question...

Then the truth was about to be far more shocking than anyone imagined.