Chapter 2: Black Tide
The face on the screen smiled.
Claire's fingers froze above the keyboard.
"No..."
The man in the video was Nathan Mercer.
Her father.
Officially, Nathan had died in a boating accident ten years earlier. His body was never recovered. The police called it a tragic accident. Newspapers described him as a respected shipping entrepreneur lost at sea.
Claire had mourned him.
Ryan had comforted her through every sleepless night.
Now the dead man was staring back at her.
The recording quality was poor, as if it had been captured by a hidden security camera. A timestamp blinked in the corner.
Three months ago.
Claire's heartbeat thundered louder than the rain outside the harbor café.
That was impossible.
Unless...
Someone had been using old footage.
She pressed Play.
Nathan looked directly toward another man seated across from him.
Only the second man's back was visible.
"You promised this would be the final shipment," Nathan said.
The voice was unmistakable.
"I built a shipping company, not a criminal empire."
The unseen man laughed.
"You built the ships. We built the money."
Nathan leaned forward.
"If innocent people keep disappearing, I'm out."
Silence.
Then the second man spoke.
"You don't leave Black Tide."
The recording ended.
Claire stared at the blank screen.
Her father hadn't died in an accident.
He had been trying to leave something called Black Tide.
The same name as the mysterious folder.
She clicked the next file.
Instead of another video, a map appeared.
Dozens of shipping routes stretched across the Atlantic like veins.
Some were highlighted in red.
Others in black.
Each route carried strange codes.
BT-07
BT-19
BT-41
Claire recognized several coordinates.
They matched locations from the documents she had secretly photographed in Ryan's office.
Her stomach tightened.
Ryan and Jason weren't running their own operation.
They were only part of something much larger.
Something her father had tried to escape.
She copied every file from the USB onto the café computer.
Then onto a brand-new flash drive she bought from a nearby electronics shop.
One copy wasn't enough.
If someone found her again...
The evidence had to survive.
As she stepped back onto the street, she noticed a television inside a convenience store.
The local news was on.
"...Authorities continue searching for Claire Mercer, presumed lost at sea after a private yacht disappeared during last week's storm..."
A photo of her filled the screen.
Smiling.
Happy.
Alive.
The reporter continued.
"Businessman Ryan Mercer has offered a one-million-dollar reward to anyone who discovers information regarding his missing wife."
Claire almost laughed.
Ryan was searching for her.
Not to save her.
To make sure she never returned.
Hundreds of miles away...
Ryan watched the same broadcast from the living room of his mansion.
Jason poured himself a glass of whiskey.
"Still nothing?"
Ryan shook his head.
"The Coast Guard found debris."
"No body?"
"No body."
Jason frowned.
"I don't like that."
Ryan walked toward the enormous window overlooking the sea.
"The current could have carried her anywhere."
Jason remained silent.
Ryan rarely admitted uncertainty.
This time...
He did.
"What if she survived?"
Jason laughed.
"She couldn't swim."
Ryan didn't answer.
Instead, he remembered something.
Three weeks before the yacht trip...
Claire had come home with damp hair.
She'd claimed she'd been caught in the rain.
Another day she had complained about sore shoulders.
Another time she'd bought sports clothing she'd never worn before.
Tiny details.
Meaningless then.
Now...
Ryan's expression darkened.
"Find her instructor."
Jason blinked.
"What instructor?"
Ryan slowly turned.
"If Claire lied about not being able to swim..."
"...someone taught her."
The next morning...
Claire rented a tiny room under a false name.
The building was old.
The wallpaper peeled from the walls.
The bed squeaked every time she moved.
Perfect.
No one would think to look for the wealthy wife of Ryan Mercer in a place like this.
She spent the day studying every file inside Black Tide.
Most of them were encrypted.
One folder finally opened.
Inside were photographs.
Shipping containers.
Warehouses.
Cargo manifests.
And people.
Hundreds of faces.
Some smiled.
Some didn't know they were being photographed.
Several photos had red X marks drawn across them.
Claire zoomed in.
A woman.
Age around thirty.
Red X.
A dock supervisor.
Red X.
A customs officer.
Red X.
Every person marked with a red X had one thing in common.
They had disappeared.
News articles attached beside each photo confirmed it.
Missing.
Missing.
Missing.
Never found.
Claire suddenly realized something horrifying.
Black Tide wasn't only smuggling.
It eliminated anyone who became inconvenient.
Just like they had tried to eliminate her.
A knock sounded at her motel door.
Three slow taps.
Claire froze.
Nobody knew she was here.
Another knock.
"Housekeeping."
She hadn't requested housekeeping.
Her pulse accelerated.
Silently, she looked through the peephole.
A woman in a cleaning uniform stood outside.
Something felt wrong.
The uniform looked new.
Too new.
And...
The woman wore expensive leather boots.
Not housekeeping shoes.
Claire quietly stepped backward.
She opened the bathroom window instead.
The room sat on the second floor.
A narrow fire escape ran beside it.
The knock came again.
This time louder.
"Miss?"
The doorknob moved.
Locked.
Then...
A metallic click.
Someone was picking the lock.
Claire climbed through the bathroom window just as the motel room door burst open.
Two people entered.
Not one.
The fake housekeeper.
And a tall bald man wearing black gloves.
They searched the room within seconds.
The woman spoke into an earpiece.
"Negative."
The bald man looked toward the open bathroom window.
His eyes narrowed.
"She's here."
He ran.
Claire was already halfway down the fire escape.
She hit the alley running.
Her body still ached from the ocean.
But adrenaline erased the pain.
Behind her came heavy footsteps.
"Stop!"
She didn't.
The alley opened into a crowded marketplace.
People everywhere.
Perfect.
Claire slipped between shoppers.
Turned sharply.
Knocked over a fruit stand.
Oranges rolled across the pavement.
The bald man crashed straight into them.
He stumbled.
Not enough.
He recovered almost instantly.
Professional.
Claire darted into a subway entrance.
The arriving train doors chimed.
She sprinted.
The doors began closing.
She threw herself inside.
The bald man lunged.
His fingers almost reached her coat.
The doors slammed shut between them.
For a long second...
They stared at each other through the glass.
He wasn't angry.
He was smiling.
Then he slowly raised one finger.
Pointing behind Claire.
She turned.
Every passenger looked ordinary.
Students.
Office workers.
An elderly couple.
A teenager listening to music.
Nothing unusual.
When she looked back...
The bald man was gone.
An hour later...
Jason received a phone call.
"We missed her."
His face hardened.
"How?"
"She escaped."
Silence.
Then Jason asked the question that mattered most.
"Did she see your face?"
"No."
"Good."
He hung up.
Ryan entered the office.
"Report."
Jason hesitated.
"Someone tipped her off."
Ryan stopped walking.
"What?"
"She left the room thirty seconds before our people entered."
Ryan's eyes narrowed.
"No coincidence."
Jason nodded slowly.
"Someone's helping her."
Ryan looked toward the wall where dozens of shipping routes were pinned.
If Claire had found allies...
Their problem had just become much larger.
That evening...
Claire finally dared to examine the necklace more carefully.
The silver pendant felt heavier than she remembered.
She twisted it.
Nothing.
She pressed the tiny gemstone in the center.
Click.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside...
Not another USB.
A folded piece of paper.
Yellow with age.
Her father's handwriting.
Only one sentence.
"If I'm dead, never trust the man with green eyes."
Claire read it twice.
Then three times.
Ryan's eyes were blue.
Jason's were blue.
Captain Brooks had gray eyes.
Who had green eyes?
As she turned the note over...
A shadow appeared beneath her apartment door.
Someone was standing outside.
Then came a calm, familiar voice.
"Claire..."
She stopped breathing.
It couldn't be.
The voice continued.
"I know you're in there."
She knew that voice.
She had heard it almost every day as a child.
Her father's best friend.
The man who had attended Nathan Mercer's funeral.
The man who had cried beside her mother's grave.
Uncle Victor.
And...
May you like
Victor's eyes were green.
End of Chapter 2
