The black van's headlights cut through the rain like knives, trailing Sasha's sedan as it sped toward the docks. Lena Hart gripped the pocket watch, its inscription—To my dearest Ellie, the key to our legacy lies where the river meets the sea—burning in her mind. The pier was close, locker 47 her father's hidden clue, but Vivian Whitmore's hunters were closer. Max clutched the stolen ledger in the backseat, his knife at the ready, while Riley Kane scribbled notes, her filmmaker's mind already spinning the chase into a scene. Daniel Carter, beside her, scanned the rearview mirror, his journalist's instincts on edge. Sasha's hands were steady on the wheel, but her jaw was tight, the black van gaining ground.
“We're not making it to the pier," Sasha said, her voice clipped. “That van's too f
