Chapter 1: Suspicions

Isle of Enchantment, Eastward Lighthouse No .1

Five years later...

East of Maine, and only accessible via the Biddeford Ferry, a charming little island lovingly nicknamed the "Isle of Enchantment" stood serenely in the middle of the Atlantic. It was given the name by the superstitious residents of Mount Desert Island because they truly believed it was an enchanted place.

And they weren't wrong.

The little island was a serene, picturesque island with a small populace of very private citizens. There were never more than ten thousand people at a time, and tourists and visitors made up most of them. The permanent citizens of the island formed a very private and very close-knit community.

Most who lived there were well-to-do individuals. They lived in beautiful cottage-style mansions overlooking the bay and the Atlantic. From their posh and privileged abodes high up the coastal cliffs, some might even experience a sense of being a god—something some residents took too seriously. However, there were also small, less impressive residences, and those were inhabited by diehard blue-collar residents who worked at the posh hotels or owned small Mom & Pops in the epic center of the island.

Although small, Isle of Enchantment still boasted no less than two lighthouses. These stood on opposite sides of the landmass. They were referred to as Lighthouse #1 and Lighthouse #2. Both were still in excellent shape and fully functional. Since the island was situated between the mainland and the sea, fog was a very common occurrence, so lighthouses were still indispensable. But as enchanting as they were, these two lighthouses have, lately, become the bane of the local folks' peaceful existence.

A large mainland corporation had become interested in the lighthouses. They'd already bought one lighthouse, and had set their sights set on the last remaining, privately owned beacon—Lighthouse #1.

For months, they had worked diligently to buy the last lighthouse. They offered large sums of money, but the owner had repeatedly rejected them. The sums offered over the years grew to outrageous amounts, indicating that the shareholders of this corporation were willing to go far in order to acquire the rights to the property and the lighthouse. That insistence should have been an omen to Charles Meeren that this corporation wasn't going to take no for an answer. To his credit, though, Charles Meeren continued to rebuff and reject any and all offers until he finally just ignored them. His silence was loud and clear, but the Masterson family had never suffered defeat, and they weren't about to start now.

AquaFine Real, Inc. was a subsidiary of Global Masterson Enterprises, Inc. It specialized in large cruise ships and the renovation of small islands, transforming them vacation paradises for the well-to-do. Global Masterson Enterprises, Inc. was a multi-billion dollar corporation that had thousands of divisions and subsidiaries that dealt in everything from real estate to fast food manufacturing to restaurant chains across the globe to advanced construction equipment.

Although Global Masterson Inc. was a mega-corporation, it was still privately owned and operated by the Masterson family of Manhattan, New York. The Masterson's have always been a part of America's elite which inevitably gave them a sense of entitlement, and they never encountered problems money couldn't buy away ... until now.

Emboldened after paying a tidy but reasonable sum for Lighthouse #2, and with renovations already in full swing, AquaFine Real set out to offer the owner of Lighthouse #1 the same reasonable sum. Unlike the Louwenbrach family, the previous owners of Lighthouse #2 and its cliffside property, Charles J. Meeren pertinently refused to sell, and when he ignored them, it was a clear sign that he believed the matter was closed. But for the Mastersons, the issue was far from settled.

On a warm and sunny, summer afternoon, as the sun kissed the ocean's rippling surface and made it sparkle and shimmer, the Masterson's decided to launch phase two of their plan to acquire Charles Meeren's lighthouse.

It was a beautiful day, with colorful sails of fancy sailboats billowing in the sea breeze. The tranquil sight was mixed with the sounds of heavy million dollar yacht engines, but it all seemed to work. Only the sound of construction on Lighthouse #2 tore through the harmony, and it was most likely times like these when the islanders counted their many lucky stars that Charly Meeren hadn't sold out to that mega-corporation.

On the west side of the island it was noisy and bustling with workers, most from the mainland but some locals as well. On the east side of the island, however, all was still peaceful and unbothered just as it had been before AquaFine Real arrived on large cargo ships with their army of construction workers, architects, designers, and historians.

On that "unbothered" side of the island, a young woman stood on one of the large rocks on the sloping cliffside. Her bobbed, deep black curls whipped wildly around her serene and pretty face, flushed with a healthy glow. Her eyes were slightly slanted, of an extraordinary color, and fringed with thick whipping lashes. She was as still as a statue as she stared quietly out over the open sea. If you ventured a closer look, you might be able to catch a hint of sadness within their crystalline depths.

She wore a baggy overall and blue knit sweater hoodie, but it was hardly enough to keep warm in the brisk briny breeze. Yet, she didn't seem affected by it one way or the other. Her hands were tucked in her overall pockets, her feet in rugged black workman boots firmly planted on the slippery rocks.

She stood unafraid on a rather precarious spot atop a particularly large black rock. She appeared engrossed by the setting sun as, just below the rocky incline, her small rowboat had been tethered to a small wooden pier and it now bobbed gently in the frothy sea water.

The sound of a Jeep's engine tore through the serenity of the moment, and she finally took her attention off of the horizon and raised her gaze. Big curious eyes moved as she glanced over her shoulder at the clifftop and at the white and red striped guardrail. Moments later, a bright yellow and black Humvee appeared before it parked in front of the railing, and moments later, the doors opened.

Four tourists, most likely on their way to the Sumptuous Seafood Salon restaurant across the road, exited the robust vehicle. Patrons past and present swore that the Sumptuous Seafood Salon served the best Atlantic seafood this side of Heaven, so it wasn't an unusual scene to see tourists in their fancy vehicles park near the guardrail before heading to the restaurant across the road since the Sumptuous Seafood had a pathetically small parking lot for a popular restaurant.

She noticed the tall, dark-haired man with wide shoulders first. He wore a thick ivory cable-knit sweater over his long, lean torso and wide chest, and a pair of black casual slacks on his lean hips and seemingly longer than long legs. His hair was a deep black highlighted by blue streaks under the summer's sun, and it was trimmed closely to his head and his chiseled face. He was undoubtedly handsome although she couldn't see that clearly from where she stood, but what she did notice was the quiet confidence emanating from him, even from that distance.