A single padlock had been cut and lay on the ground near the door.

Inside, a dim yellow bulb flickered, casting long shadows across the water.

I pushed the heavy wooden door open.

It creaked on its rusted hinges.

“Gareth,” I called out, my voice echoing off the corrugated metal roof.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” a voice shouted from the darkness near the back slip.

Gareth stepped into the light.

His hair was disheveled, and his expensive suit jacket was stained with grease.

In his right hand, he held a heavy silver revolver.

His left hand was wrapped tightly around the collar of Clara’s coat.

Clara was sitting on a wooden crate, her hands tied behind her back with thick yellow nylon rope.

A white cloth gag was stuffed into her mouth, but her eyes were wide and filled with terror.

A dark bruise was forming along her jawline where she had been struck.

“You ruined everything,” Gareth screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria. “The federal agents are all over the house. My mother is in a police car because of you.”