Tommy looks conflicted. “Samuel wanted this handled properly, through official channels.”
“And we will,” I assure him. “But first we need to recover the star and whatever documentation Dad created. Then we approach the authorities with everything properly preserved.”
“What about whatever’s in this wall?” Tommy asks, directing his flashlight back to the discolored section.
I consider the question carefully. Dad had been preparing thorough documentation before approaching officials. Following his example seems the most responsible course.
“We document its existence without disturbing it,” I decide. “Photos, measurements, everything we can record without actual excavation. Then we determine our next steps.”
Sid produces his phone, its camera flash illuminating the wall section as he captures detailed images from multiple angles. I measure the dimensions of the discolored area, noting its precise location relative to the cellar entrance.
“Samuel believed the Star of Sebastian was hidden here during the 1923 renovations,” Tommy explains while we work. “According to family stories, my great-grandfather found something significant but kept it secret, fearing treasure hunters would descend on Seacliff Haven.”
“And the logbook Reeves mentioned?” Sid asks.
“Passed down through generations of lighthouse keepers, eventually shown to Samuel when he began researching the Salvador Mundi.”
The shared information confirms the significance of what Dad discovered. Not just a historically interesting shipwreck, but potentially a revolutionary navigational device that had been protected by Tommy’s family for generations.
“Reeves expects us at six,” I remind the others as we finish our documentation. We must devise a plan that excludes giving historical artifacts to black market dealers.
“Or walking into what could be a trap,” Sid adds.
Tommy’s expression darkens. “I have connections with the state historical preservation office. I could make some calls, try to get emergency protection for the lighthouse and surrounding areas.”
“Do it,” I encourage him. “But quietly. If Reeves suspects official involvement, he might destroy evidence rather than risk discovery.”
As we climb the stairs back to the main lighthouse level, I mentally review everything we’ve learned. Dad discovered the Salvador Mundi wreck site, documented its contents including the Star of Sebastian, encoded crucial information in my driftwood creation, and planned to ensure proper historical preservation through official channels.
His unexpected death left the documentation incomplete, with pieces scattered across the seven locations he marked on the map. Reeves and his investors recognized the potential valueof the artifacts, particularly the Star of Sebastian, and took aggressive steps to acquire them before official protection could be established.
Now the final piece appears to lie hidden within the lighthouse itself, potentially placed there by Tommy’s great-grandfather almost a century ago. And my driftwood star, with its encoded microfilm, holds the key to authenticating whatever artifact might be recovered.
Outside the lighthouse, holiday visitors continue their tours, wholly unaware of the historical drama unfolding beneath the cheerful Christmas decorations. The normalcy of the scene feels surreal after our tense encounter with Reeves.
“What now?” Sid asks as we walk toward the parking area, Finn trotting at my side.
“We need to see what’s in that wall,” I admit. “Properly, with archaeological oversight if possible. But first, we need to recover my star.”
“You’re not actually considering meeting Reeves alone?”
“No,” I assure him. “But we need a better plan than simply not showing up.”
The Christmas Market continues in town, its festive atmosphere a stark contrast to the tension we carry. As we drive back toward my cottage to strategize, I can’t help feeling that Dad’s legacy, my star, and a historically significant artifact all hang in the balance of decisions we must make in the next few hours.
The seventh location has revealed its secret, just as Dad intended. Now we must ensure that the discovery benefits historical understanding rather than private collectors and developers with no regard for preservation.
Finn sits alert in the passenger seat, his dark eyes watchful. Whatever plan we devise, I know one thing with absolutecertainty: I want my star back, not just for its sentimental value, but for the historical record it helps preserve.
Dad trusted me with this legacy, perhaps without fully realizing it. I won’t let him down.
Chapter Eight
The wall clock in my kitchen reads 4:30 PM as Sid, Tommy, and I gather around the table. Finn rests nearby, tracking our movements.
“Reeves expects us at six,” I remind them, spreading out the lighthouse cellar photos. “Alone, with information about what’s hidden in the wall.”
“Which we won’t provide,” Sid says. “But we need a plan that doesn’t involve surrendering historical artifacts to black market dealers.”
