Page 12 of Finding Home at Hearts Hotel

"On your marks..." Pete called out, the crowd on the banks falling into a hushed, expectant silence.

Darius crouched forward, his chest nearly touching his knees as he reached his oar back, the wooden blade hovering just above the glassy surface of the water. He locked his focus onto the back of Michael’s shoulders, his muscles coiled tight like a spring.

"Get set..."

CRACK!

The starter pistol fired with a puff of white smoke, and the peaceful morning vanished in an instant.

"Pull!" Baxter screamed, his voice cracking with excitement.

Darius plunged his wooden blade into the lake, his thigh muscles straining as he drove his legs back against the footrests. The heavy oar fought against the resistance of the water, the wood groaning under the sudden, massive strain as the five of them threw their collective weight into the first stroke. The boat surged forward with a heavy, wet splash, the race for Sweet Blossom Bay officially underway.

"Hold the line!" Baxter yelled, his voice cracking as the nose of the heavy wooden gig began to swing toward the yellow turnmarker. "Sanibel is creeping up on our port side! Pull, you lazy sailors, pull!"

Darius dug his oar deep into the water, his shoulders burning as they fought the heavy weight of the turn. The lake sprayed over the bow, cooling his face for a split second, but his focus didn't waver from the man rowing directly in front of him. Michael was pulling with a fierce intensity, his jaw set hard as he strained against the wood.

"You've been holding out on us," Michael gasped between strokes, his voice tight from the physical effort. He took a quick, ragged breath as they cleared the marker. "What really happened yesterday at the meeting with the Winebergs?"

Darius braced his feet against the wooden pegs, the blinding glare of the silver water beginning to fade as his thoughts slipped back to the chilled corridor of the second floor, where he'd been waiting for the trap to close.

Darius

Yesterday morning at the meeting

The heavy linen-blend suit jacket felt stiff against Darius's shoulders as he stepped into the cool, air-conditioned lobby of the Sanibel hotel. Just twenty minutes earlier, he had been standing in the blistering mid-morning sun on the shores of Sweet Blossom Bay, watching the kids bounce across inflatable water courses and listening to Maggie bark orders like a marinedrill sergeant. But a single text message on his phone had changed the entire trajectory of the weekend.

He crossed the polished marble floor, his leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the stone, until he reached the designated private meeting suite on the second floor. Baxter was already waiting for him in the corridor, standing beside a tall, sweating young man who looked like he was about to physically vibrate out of his skin. It was Rory.

Rory looked a mess. His shirt was untucked, his hair was pushed back in frantic clumps, and his eyes darted constantly toward the elevators as if expecting the ground to open up beneath him.

"You got him?" Darius asked quietly, stopping in front of Baxter with a sharp, assessing gaze.

"Oh, he’s got more than just himself," Baxter said, a grim, satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He gestured to the trembling man. "Rory here realized that loyalty to the Winebergs has an expiration date, and it turns out today is the day. He’s singing like a canary."

"I had no choice!" Rory blurted out in a high, panicked whisper, his hands wringing together. "They told me it was just harmless corporate scouting! They said they just wanted to reposition market value! But when I saw the actual engineering sabotage reports, when I realized what they were doing to the South Carolina site and Hearts Hotel, I knew I was going down for corporate espionage alone. They used me for months. They have every single text, every wire transfer receipt, and every falsified inspection draft stored on a secured cloud server. And I have the master keys to access it all right now."

Darius felt a cold, hard satisfaction settle deep in his chest. The trap was finally closing.

"Good," Darius said, his voice turning into something icy. "Because you are going to walk into that conference room with us, hand over every shred of proof, and verify every single signature before federal investigators arrive."

They pushed the door to the boardroom open and walked in seeing Dr. Debbi Wineberg typing on her laptop. She barely lifted her head to see who it was.

“Just put the water on the side table,” she said dismissively, without a glance.

“I think we should get some coffee…” Hyrum’s voice faded as his eyes lifted from the reports in front of him and froze.

“Mr. Wayne,” Hyrum’s voice dipped and Debbi’s head shot up at her uncle’s words.

“You’re…” Debbi glanced at her wristwatch. “Early.”

“I have other appointments today so I need to move this meeting along as fast as possible,” Darius told them, giving nothing away in his tone.

He saw the flicker in Debbi and Hyrum’s eyes as they looked at the two men with him. They moved toward the table. Darius sat at the opposite end of the long mahogany table, with Baxter and Rory flanking him. Baxter unlatched the heavy leather briefcase, popping it open and immediately beginning to arrange the documents across the polished wood.

"I’ve come here today to discuss the reports we’ve received from..." Darius glanced at Baxter, who pulled out a thick stackof papers and handed them over. Darius skimmed through the pages unhurriedly. "...South Coast Hotels."

"Yes, the reports on the land surveys and the authentication of the dig sites," Hyrum stated, leaning back in his leather chair with a self-assured shrug. "You'll find everything is in order, just as I warned when I personally examined those locations."