Drew Starkey Imagines

Dead Calm Pt 3

The air in the Château was thick with tension. The papers you'd stolen from Ward's office were scattered across the table, illuminated by the soft glow of a lantern. Names, numbers, and property deeds lay before you—evidence of something far bigger than any of you had anticipated.

Derrick Wyatt had been asking questions. And now, Derrick Wyatt was dead.

"We need to go to the cops," Kiara said, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Rafe scoffed. "And say what, exactly? That we broke into my dad's office and stole a bunch of documents?"

She shot him a glare. "So what? You'd rather sit on this until we all end up like Derrick?"

You stepped in before it could escalate. "We're not going to the cops... at least not yet."

Kiara's expression darkened, but she didn't argue.

Pope skimmed another page, his brows furrowing. "This isn't just about land deals. Some of these properties... they were sold, but the money? It doesn't add up. There's millions missing."

JJ let out a low whistle. "Well, someone is rolling in dirty money."

Rafe's jaw tightened. "My dad."

John B shook his head. "We don't know that for sure."

But you did.

Ward Cameron wasn't just a businessman—he was a master manipulator. You'd seen it firsthand, the way he pulled strings, made people disappear, controlled everything and everyone around him.

If there was something to be covered up, Ward would do whatever it took to make sure no one found out.

And Derrick Wyatt?

He had found out.

A chill ran down your spine.

"So what do we do?" Pope asked.

You hesitated. Then, slowly, you said, "We find out what Derrick knew. Where he was looking. If we can figure out what he was trying to expose, maybe we can figure out who killed him."

Rafe frowned. "That means finding someone who knew him."

JJ smirked. "And I think I know exactly where to start."

⸻

The Wreck – Midnight

The bar was quieter than usual, the late hour thinning the crowd to a handful of drunks and tired fishermen. A soft breeze carried the scent of salt and fried seafood through the open doors, mixing with the low hum of conversation.

You sat in the far corner, pressed close to Rafe as JJ leaned across the table, eyes gleaming. "Okay. So, rumor has it Derrick was seen talking to a guy named Elias Boone before he disappeared."

Pope frowned. "Boone? The old charter captain?"

JJ nodded. "Yeah. Runs one of those shady deep-sea fishing tours. Word is, he and Derrick had a deal."

John B raised a brow. "What kind of deal?"

"No clue," JJ admitted. "But if Derrick was sniffing around something illegal, Boone might have been the last person to see him alive."

You exchanged a glance with Rafe. "Then we need to find him."

⸻

Boone's Dock – 2:00 AM

The docks were eerily quiet, the wooden planks creaking beneath your feet as you and the others made your way toward a dimly lit boat. The water lapped softly against the hull, a rhythmic sound that did little to calm your nerves.

Rafe was tense beside you, his hand resting lightly on your back. "This guy better not waste our time."

JJ grinned. "Oh, don't worry. He's very talkative once you get a few drinks in him."

Boone was exactly what you expected—weathered skin, sun-bleached hair, and a cigarette dangling between his lips. He was lounging on the deck of his boat, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand.

He squinted at you all as you approached. "You lost?"

JJ stepped forward. "Nah, man. We're looking for some answers."

Boone let out a low chuckle. "That so?"

You stepped in. "We need to know about Derrick Wyatt."

At the mention of the name, Boone's expression darkened. His grip tightened on the whiskey bottle. "I don't know anything."

Rafe scoffed. "Bullshit."

Boone's gaze flickered to him. "Cameron, huh? Figures you'd be mixed up in this."

Rafe clenched his jaw. "Talk."

Boone sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Derrick was onto something. Said he found proof that some big-money people were screwing over the island. Said there was money—a lot of it—being funneled through shell companies tied to old land deals."

Your stomach twisted. "Tannyhill?"

Boone hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.

Your heart pounded.

Rafe exhaled sharply. "Who was he working with?"

Boone hesitated again. Then, finally, he muttered, "He wasn't working with anyone."

Pope frowned. "What do you mean?"

Boone met your gaze, his expression grave.

"He was working against them."

Silence fell over the group.

Rafe's voice was low, dangerous. "Who?"

Boone looked at him for a long moment. Then, quietly, he said,

"Your dad."

The words hit like a gunshot.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Rafe let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Of course."

You reached for his hand, squeezing gently. "Rafe—"

He pulled away, pacing toward the edge of the dock, running a hand through his hair. His whole body was tense, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might snap.

You turned back to Boone. "Are you saying Ward killed him?"

Boone hesitated. "No. I don't think so. But I do think Ward found out what Derrick was doing. And I think that's why Derrick's dead."

Pope frowned. "Then who did it?"

Boone exhaled. "I don't know. But if Ward was covering his ass, he wouldn't have gotten his hands dirty himself. He would've had someone else do it."

John B muttered, "A hitman."

Rafe's voice was tight. "Or someone on the payroll."

A chill ran down your spine.

Because you knew Rafe was right.

Ward had the money, the connections. If Derrick was a threat, Ward wouldn't hesitate to make that threat disappear.

JJ leaned back, whistling low. "Well. That just made things a whole lot messier."

Boone took another swig of whiskey. "You kids should walk away."

You met his gaze. "We can't."

Because it wasn't just about Derrick anymore.

It was about Ward.

It was about Rafe.

And it was about the truth.

Boone sighed. "Then be careful."

Rafe turned, his eyes dark and unreadable. "We always are."

But as you walked away, you had the sinking feeling that maybe—just maybe—none of you were ready for what came next.