“Hey! I found something!” We hear the shout from outside the bar.
Curious, we walk outside with other patrons to see what’s going on. Heads are turned toward the beach. A man stands waving his hands in the air, his voice hoarse with excitement.
We spill out onto the sand, joining the small crowd gathering around him. He holds up a diamond ring, its facets catching the moonlight.
“Is it the treasure?” someone asks breathlessly.
“No. Just a ring. Probably someone’s wedding band. I wonder if it’s a real diamond.”
Jill’s eyes flick to her hand—ring intact—she sighs.
Excitement ripples through the crowd, breaking the tension and triggering the suggestion from a group of tourists to do another late-night treasure search around the island. It’s becoming the norm these days for locals and tourists both to prowl the island late at night, looking for Skipes’ hidden treasure. Liam claps the man on the back. “Guess you’ll have to keep searching for the real loot. At least it’s not a total loss.” He gestures to the ring.
“Naw, I’ll post it in the classifieds. I’m sure someone is looking for it, and I’m not going to get in the way of love, man. My old lady would kill me.” He walks off, shoulders slumped in disappointment.
Back inside, the celebration resumes. It’s two a.m., but the bar doesn’t close until three. I walk back to Maddie, but Jamie approaches me, his face serious.
“We’ve got a problem.”
Straightening, my instincts sharpen. “What kind of problem?”
“Not here.” He scans the bar. “Let’s talk back at the inn. We may need some privacy for this…”
Reluctantly, I tell Maddie goodnight and arrange for her to walk home with a trusted buddy. She’s still having fun withHannah, and I don’t want her night cut short. She needs some fun.
The cool early morning air greets us as we step outside, and unease tightens in my chest.
Whatever this is, it’s not good.
On the inn’s patio, the tension in the air is thick. Liam, Jamie, and Margaret are nearby, their postures rigid. Jamie’s phone lights up his face as he scrolls through video quicks, his frown deepening with each one. I’ve got an inkling of what’s going on and am trying hard to keep my anger tamped down. And I’m failing miserably.
“All right,” he mutters, pausing. “Here’s the one. He posted this last night. Over half a million views already.” Jamie recoils as I peer over his shoulder at the screen.
Crossing my arms tightly, I try to contain my frustration. “Let’s see it.”
Jamie taps play and the video rolls. Wes Harrington’s smug face fills the screen, his white teeth gleaming.
“Hey there, explorers…” His voice rings out, oozing fake enthusiasm. “It’s your boy, Wes, bringing you an exclusive look into one of the world’s most mysterious and dangerous places—Carter’s Drop.”
The video cuts to dramatic shots of Wes standing above the ocean’s surface, gesturing theatrically toward the water.
“Word has it there’s treasure down here—maybe even the missing hoard of billionaire Harrold Skipes himself… But will we find the gold in the caves below or hidden somewhere on this island? We’re here to find out.”
Underwater footage follows—dark, moody shots of the caves heavily edited for maximum drama. Wes’s voiceover hints at ancient artifacts, untold riches, and buried secrets, eachexaggerated word fanning the flames of chaos and inviting disaster.
When the video ends, Jamie looks up at me, his mouth set in a grim line. “It’s bad. The comments are filled with people saying they’re cashing in on their 401ks to come here to dive.”
“The Coast Guard is furious. Glassier called me thirty minutes ago. He’s threatening to shut down all diving at Carter’s Drop,” Margaret adds.
Liam scratches his chin, frowning. “Can they do that? Shut us down?”
“If they think it’s a safety risk, yes, they can.” I grit my teeth. “And thanks to Wes, they’ve got all the justification they need. One call to NOAA, and we’re done.”
Without another word, I turn and head for the stairs. My boots thud against the wood as I march toward Wes’s room, anger building with every step. I pound on his door, my fists rattling the frame. I don’t care if it wakes the whole inn.
The door creaks open, and there stands Wes, shirtless, bleary-eyed, like he just got out of a fight. His hair is a mess, and the faint scent of spicy perfume clings to the air. Inside, ripped condom packages are strewn across the floor, and a blond woman lounges on the bed, scrolling through her phone, completely unbothered.
“Rickter,” Wes groans, rubbing his face. “What the hell, man? It’s the middle of the night.”
