Chapter 10 - Flight to St. Lucia
The private charter flight touched down on the sun-drenched tarmac of Hewanorra International Airport in St. Lucia just as dawn painted the Caribbean sky in brilliant shades of orange and violet. The humid tropical air hit me like a wall as I stepped off the plane, wearing a simple linen travel suit and dark sunglasses.
No one knew I was here. Not Director Hayes, not my attorney, and certainly not Daniel or Vanessa, who were currently sitting in separate holding cells in Miami awaiting arraignment.
My mission was simple: retrieve the master decryption key from the St. Lucia condo before Viktor Vance’s local associates realized the federal raid had compromised their network.
I rented a nondescript silver compact car at the airport terminal and drove winding coastal roads toward the exclusive resort enclave of Marigot Bay, where Daniel and Vanessa’s oceanfront suite was located. Palm trees swayed gently in the Atlantic breeze, and turquoise waves crashed against white sand beaches—a breathtaking paradise masking an ocean of greed and betrayal.
The resort was quiet at this early morning hour. Tourists were still asleep in their air-conditioned suites, and only a few groundskeepers were raking white sand along the pathways.
I parked near the rear service entrance of Villa 14—the exact oceanfront suite listed on the hotel confirmation I had found in our shared cloud account on the day of Sofia’s funeral.
Using a universal electronic bypass tool I had packed in my forensic kit, I clicked open the service panel beside the heavy mahogany door. Three seconds of wire manipulation later, the electronic deadbolt clicked open with a soft mechanical hum.
I slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind me. The suite smelled faintly of expensive French champagne and expensive jasmine perfume. White resort dresses hung over the balcony chairs, and empty champagne flutes sat on the glass coffee table.
It was surreal standing here, knowing this luxury had been bought with the stolen medical funds meant to keep my eight-year-old niece alive.
I walked straight to the bedroom, ignoring the king-sized bed draped in white linen. On the mahogany nightstand sat a sleek, encrypted hardware wallet—the physical key required to unlock the master ledger.
I reached out, my fingers brushing the cool brushed aluminum casing of the device. Just as I lifted it, the heavy front door of the suite clicked open with a sharp turn of the key.
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Footsteps echoed on the tile floor in the living room.
Panic surged through my chest. I spun around, clutching the hardware wallet, as a tall man in a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses stepped into the bedroom doorway, blocking my only exit.
