The security questions were personal.

*What was the name of Arthur’s first greyhound?*

Arthur wouldn’t remember.

He had owned five dogs since then and shot two of them himself.

The men in the warehouse looked defeated.

One of them kicked a wooden crate, sending splinters across the concrete floor.

I watched them for ten minutes, sipping my tea.

It was like watching a house of cards tilt in the breeze.

Arthur had built his empire on violence, but I had built the scaffolding that kept it upright.

Without the scaffolding, the weight of his own greed was crushing him.

My other phone in my pocket vibrated.

It was my personal phone, the one registered to Sarah Miller.

The screen lit up with an email notification from a local real estate agency.

*Subject: Inquiry regarding the old lighthouse property.*

I opened it.

The message was simple.

“We have a client interested in purchasing the property adjacent to yours. He is willing to pay double the market value for an immediate cash sale.”

My heart gave a slow, heavy thud.

The property adjacent to my cottage was an abandoned fishing shack.