TWENTY SEVEN

TWENTY SEVEN
I followed him out onto the small porch. The morning air was cool and clean, carrying the scent of pine and distant ocean.

"I don't like this plan," he said.

"Neither do I. But do you have a better one?"

"Yeah. We run. All of us. Disappear completely. Let someone else deal with Vincent."

"We tried running. It didn't work."

"We didn't try hard enough."

I looked at his face, seeing real fear there for the first time. Not fear for himself—fear for me.

"Hank—"

"You don't understand what you're walking into. Vincent's house isn't just protected. It's a fortress. Getting in might be possible, but getting out..."

"Then teach me. Show me what to watch for, what to avoid. Give me the skills I need to survive."

"Three days isn't enough time."

"It's what we have."

He stared out at the forest, jaw tight with tension. "If something happens to you—"

"Then Maddie publishes everything and Vincent goes down anyway. That's the plan."

"That's not what I mean."

"What do you mean?"

He turned to face me fully, and the raw emotion in his eyes made my breath catch.

"I mean I've spent five years avoiding connections. Avoiding caring about anyone. Because caring makes you vulnerable."

"And?"

"And then you showed up on that beach, and everything I'd been avoiding came crashing back."

My heart was pounding now. "Hank—"

"I'm falling for you, Elise. Have been since that first morning. And the thought of you walking into Vincent's house, putting yourself in that kind of danger..." He shook his head. "It terrifies me."

I wanted to tell him I felt the same way. That somewhere between finding Sadie's body and hiding in this cabin, I'd started falling for him too.

But before I could speak, we heard Jim calling from inside.

"Guys! You need to see this!"

We rushed back into the cabin. Jim had his phone out, showing us a news article.

Breaking: Sheriff Kinney Found Dead in Apparent Suicide

My blood ran cold as I read the details. Sheriff Kinney, dead in his office. Single gunshot wound. Suicide note claiming responsibility for years of corruption.

"Vincent's cleaning house," Hank said grimly.

"Or framing us," Maddie added. "Look at the suicide note."

I read the printed text. It blamed everything on a conspiracy that included "outside agitators" and "criminal elements trying to take over legitimate business operations."

"He's setting us up," I said. "Making us look like the bad guys."

"Which means we're out of time. If Vincent's moving this fast, he's preparing for something big."

"The festival," my mother said. "He's going to make his move during the festival."

And we were going to have to be ready.

The news about Sheriff Kinney changed everything.

We spent the rest of the morning glued to Jim's laptop, watching as the story evolved. Local news stations picked it up first, then regional outlets. By noon, it had gone national.

"Former Sheriff Found Dead Amid Corruption Allegations."

"Small Town Rocked by Law Enforcement Scandal."

"Trafficking Investigation Takes Deadly Turn."

Vincent had crafted the narrative perfectly. Kinney was the corrupt official, the mastermind behind decades of crime. His "suicide" was a confession, a way to protect his co-conspirators from justice.

And those co-conspirators? According to the carefully leaked documents, they included a former LAPD detective with a drinking problem, a blogger known for conspiracy theories, and several other "outside agitators."

"He's good," Maddie said, scrolling through social media reactions. "People are actually buying this."

"Of course they are," Hank replied. "Vincent's spent years building relationships with local media, local officials. He knows how to control a story."

My mother stood at the window, staring out at nothing. "Sarah tried to warn me about this. She said the real power wasn't in the violence—it was in the narrative. Whoever controls the story controls everything."

"Then we need to change the story," I said.

"How?" Jim asked. "Every media outlet in the state is running Vincent's version of events."

"We give them something they can't ignore. Something so big, so undeniable, that they have to cover it honestly."

"Like what?"

I looked at Hank. "Like Antonio Torrino, supposedly dead for five years, revealing himself during the Founder's Day Festival. Alive and ready to testify against his brother."

The room went silent.

"That's not changing the story," Hank said quietly. "That's ending my life."

"Is it? Or is it finally taking control of it?"

He shook his head. "You don't understand what you're asking. If I reveal myself, if I publicly testify against Vincent, the entire Torrino family will be after me. Not just Vincent—everyone."

"What if you had protection? Federal protection?"

"Witness protection doesn't work against families like mine. They have too many resources, too many connections."

"Then what's your alternative? Keep hiding forever?"

"If it keeps you safe? Yes."

The raw honesty in his voice made my chest tight. But I couldn't let emotion cloud my judgment now.

"We don't have the luxury of forever," I said. "Vincent's moving too fast. If we don't act during the festival, we might not get another chance."

Maddie was typing furiously on her laptop. "There might be another way. What if we don't wait for traditional media to pick up the story? What if we livestream everything?"

"Livestream what?"

"The festival. Antonio's revelation. Whatever evidence we find at Vincent's house. All of it, live, directly to thousands of viewers. No editors to spike the story, no officials to suppress it."

Jim nodded slowly. "Social media platforms have protocols for this kind of thing now. Breaking news, public interest. If we tag it properly, if we get enough initial engagement, it becomes impossible to shut down."

"Vincent could still kill us before we finish," I pointed out.

"But he couldn't stop the story from getting out. That's the whole point."

It was risky, maybe insane. But it was also the kind of aggressive, unexpected move that might actually work.

"I'd need equipment," Maddie said. "Multiple cameras, backup batteries, mobile hotspots in case they try to jam signals."

"I can get that," Jim said. "I've got contacts in the media world who owe me favors."

"What about security?" my mother asked. "If Elise and I are breaking into Vincent's house while all this is happening, we'll need our own backup plan."

"I'll arrange something," Hank said. "I still have a few people I trust. Former military guys who got out clean."

"You trust them with our lives?"

"I trust them more than I trust anyone else in this situation."