The clipper ship Aurelian, one of the few survivors of the old West India trade, had sighted Sandy Hook, and was making New York harbor after a remarkable voyage from Belize.
The clipper ship Aurelian, one of the few survivors of the old West India trade, had sighted Sandy Hook, and was making New York harbor after a remarkable voyage from Belize.
The clipper ship Aurelian, one of the few survivors of the old West India trade, had sighted Sandy Hook, and was making New York harbor after a remarkable voyage from Belize.
Captain Hartley, her master, was eagerly watching the approaches to the harbor with his deck glass.
By his side stood a man of distinguished appearance.
He was tall, sinewy, and would have been considered handsome were it not for the yellow hue of skin which all travelers in tropical climes are bound to acquire.
Cecil Clifford had traveled the world over. His hobby was arch?ology, and as he was a man of large means and a member of many historical and scientific societies, he was able to pursue his researches to any extent.
He was the only passenger aboard the Aurelian, and was returning to New York from Honduras with a thrilling purpose in view.
What this purpose was only he and Captain Hartley knew.
2"I only hope that Mr. Parker received our cable from Havana, and will be at the wharf to meet us," remarked Captain Hartley.
"So do I," agreed Clifford. "Is it not possible that he will come down to meet us in a tug?"
The captain shook his head with a wry face.
"Humph!" he said; "you do not know Gilbert Parker. He is the most penurious man in America. Do you think he would put out the money to employ a tug? Depend upon it-never!"
"Yet our cablegram may excite his cupidity. Did you not specify that it was a matter of moment, involving perhaps millions?"
"I did, but I do not fancy he would heed that. He is a very close, snug man of business, this Gilbert Parker. The Aurelian is all the property he owns in the world and every cent of profit she turns him in from her voyages he with miserly proclivity stores away."
Cecil Clifford's face wore a determined expression.
"Very well," he said, resolutely. "If Mr. Parker does not see fit to lend the Aurelian for my purpose, I will buy, charter or build a vessel of my own!"
3Captain Hartley turned eagerly about.
"If you do that," he said with some excitement, "why may I not enter your service?"
"And leave Parker?"
The captain snapped his fingers.
"The old skinflint has no love for me and vice versa," he said. "I have sailed the Aurelian for him eight years and made a mint of money for him. Yet he would not yield me a bit of sympathy or help were I in trouble or distress. You cannot blame me!"
"Under such circumstances, no," replied Clifford. "And Hartley, it shall be so. You stand by me and I will by you."
"It is agreed."
They gripped hands.
"You have faith in our enterprise?"
"I have."
At this moment the first mate called down from the ship's bridge:
"There is a small tug over yonder making signals to us, skipper!"
Hartley started forward.
"A tug!" he cried. "Answer them at once! Can it be possible that it is Parker coming to meet us?"
"By Jove, I hope that is true!" cried Clifford heartily.
"If so," said the captain, "he has very radically departed from all previous custom."
The tug which had signaled the Aurelian now drew momentarily nearer.
Soon she was within hailing distance, and among her company the angular form of the owner of the Aurelian was seen.
The ship lay to and the tug ran alongside. The owner came up the gangway somewhat hastily.
"Ah, Hartley!" he said, in a brusque sort of way, "you have brought my ship home safely once more!"
"I think I may claim that, Mr. Parker," replied the captain.
"Has the voyage been successful?"
"The best yet made!"
"Ah! that is good," declared Parker, rubbing his dry little hands while his eyes glittered like beads. "You are very shrewd, Hartley, and I will admit, faithful. I have gone to some expense to come out here and meet you. That I will charge to the deficit account. I am anxious to know the meaning of your cablegram!"
"You shall know it at once!" replied the captain. "Come into the cabin. But first, allow me, Mr. Parker, my friend, Cecil Clifford."
Parker bowed in a perfunctory way, and Clifford said
4"Very much pleased!"
Then a few moments later they were seated in the cabin at a big table spread with charts.
Hartley opened the conversation.
"I will first tell you a bit of a story, Mr. Parker," he said; "it will help to explain matters."
"Proceed!" said Parker, stiffly.
"As I must first inform you," continued the captain, "Mr. Clifford here is an antiquarian and traveler. He was some few weeks ago engaged in exploring the interior of Honduras. In the mountains he found the ruined city of an ancient race. In exploring the ruins he found a secret chamber which was completely walled up, save for one small opening large enough to put a hand through.
"In this secret chamber there was a skeleton enclosed in fragments of armor, such as was worn by the soldiers of Spain in the sixteenth century.
"Here was a mystery, and he at once set himself at work to solve it. His first assumption was that it was the remains of one of the early Spanish invaders, who had been made a prisoner by the natives and shut up here to starve to death.
"And upon the walls of the death cell he found the following scratched in barely legible characters into the stone:
"I, Don Cristobal Mendoza, am thrown into this dungeon to starve by the heathen, curses upon them! Curses upon the fortune which placed me in their power.
"Here I am doomed to die, while my ship, the Donna Veneta, lies fathoms deep in the ocean, off this cursed coast, with all my great fortune aboard.
"Woe is the day I left sunny Spain with my princely holdings, to set up a kingdom in this land of deception and disappointment. Buried at the bottom of the sea is my noble ship and millions of pesos, while I am to die in this fearful hole. Jesus pity! Save my soul!"
"Then followed a diagram which was rudely drawn to show the spot where the Donna Veneta went down. The whole coast map of Honduras was shown, and so comprehensive was it that a skipper familiar with the waters should be able to sail directly to it.
"No latitude or longitude was given, only approximate distances, but this was deemed enough."
The diagram was briefly discussed. All the while Parker had listened with a cat-like gleam in his eyes.
"Well, Mr. Parker," said Hartley, finally, "what do you think of it? Is not that treasure worth recovering?"
"Recovering!" exclaimed the miser, squeakily; "how can 5it be recovered? How can you recover anything from such a depth in the sea as that?"
"Pshaw! There are hundreds of divers who will go down to the wreck."
"If they can find it."
"You are incredulous!"
"What do you want of me? Is this your reason for calling me out here at such trouble and expense?" cried the miser, angrily. "What a bit of moonshine! You are a fool, Hartley. I gave you credit for more sense. What folly to think that you could recover such a treasure. Why, it is absurd-very absurd, sir!"
For a moment Hartley's face was black. Hot words were on his tongue, but he only said, in a steely way:
"Then you have no faith in this project?"
"None whatever!"
"You will not lend the Aurelian to this scheme on promise of an equal division?"
"Never!"
The miser spoke decidedly; Hartley arose quickly to his feet. He was very resolute and very angry.
"Then, Mr. Parker," he said, "you may look for a new captain. I am out of your employ this moment."
Parker gave a violent start.
"What!" he cried, "have I not always paid you well?"
"Never without reluctance."
"Then you mean to leave me?"
"I do."
"What will you do? You have no ship nor enough of money to carry out your hare-brained enterprise."
"But my friend, Mr. Clifford, has," replied Hartley, coolly.
The miser turned and regarded Clifford almost insolently.
"Yes," said the traveler, with assumed nonchalance. "You have chosen to throw away your golden opportunity, Mr. Parker. We are not sorry, however, to exclude you from our enterprise. It is true that I have money enough to build, buy or charter any kind of a vessel we may desire to accomplish our purpose."
The miser looked keenly at Clifford and then stammered:
"But-I-I will reconsider--"
"No, you won't," said Clifford emphatically. "We are alone in this enterprise, sir. You are excluded!"
The miser said no more. But he chuckled much under his breath. The Aurelian a few hours later was at her wharf.
Then Captain Hartley and the distinguished traveler took their leave of the vessel. The captain took the portfolio in which he had kept the copy of Don Cristobal's story, among other effects.
6Both proceeded at once to a hotel. Neither were disconcerted by the decision of Parker.
"The Aurelian is a good vessel," said Hartley, "but there are others, Clifford. I am not sorry to leave the old curmudgeon out of it."
"Nor I," agreed Clifford; "but now, my dear friend, let us at once get down to business."
“Stranger than the tales of the Arabian Nights—indeed, almost Munchausen-like in its seemingly improbable character is the tale I am about to give you in truth,” said Captain Nicodemus Beere as he hitched up his trowsers and shifted his quid.
Opposite it and upon the eastern extremity of mystic Yucatan is Cape Catoche. Between these two points of land lies that body of water which connects the Gulf of Mexico with the Caribbean Sea and known as the Yucatan Channel.
Ten years ago, Elizabeth Kaiser was abandoned by her biological father, cast out of her home like a stray dog. A decade later, she returned as a decorated general of Nation A, wielding immense power and wealth beyond measure. The onlookers waited eagerly for her downfall, only to watch in shock as the elite families of Capitol City bowed before her in reverence. Elizabeth smirked coldly. "Want to chase me? Better ask my fists for permission first!"
After a one-night stand with a stranger, Roselyn woke up to find only a bank card without a PIN number. Still in a daze, she was detained on charges of theft. Just as the handcuffs were about to close, the mysterious man reappeared, holding her pregnancy report. "You're pregnant with my child," he said coldly. Shocked, Roselyn was whisked away in a helicopter to the presidential palace, where she learned the truth: the man from that night was none other than the country's most powerful and influential leader!
She spent ten years chasing after the right brother, only to fall for the wrong one in one weekend. ~~~ Sloane Mercer has been hopelessly in love with her best friend, Finn Hartley, since college. For ten long years, she's stood by him, stitching him back together every time Delilah Crestfield-his toxic on-and-off girlfriend-shattered his heart. But when Delilah gets engaged to another man, Sloane thinks this might finally be her chance to have Finn for herself. She couldn't be more wrong. Heartbroken and desperate, Finn decides to crash Delilah's wedding and fight for her one last time. And he wants Sloane by his side. Reluctantly, Sloane follows him to Asheville, hoping that being close to Finn will somehow make him see her the way she's always seen him. Everything changes when she meets Knox Hartley, Finn's older brother-a man who couldn't be more different from Finn. He's dangerously magnetic. Knox sees right through Sloane and makes it his mission to pull her into his world. What starts as a game-a twisted bet between them-soon turns into something deeper. Sloane is trapped between two brothers: one who's always broken her heart and another who seems hell-bent on claiming it... no matter the cost. CONTENT WARNING: This story is strongly 18+. It delves into dark romance themes such as obsession and lust with morally complex characters. While this is a love story, reader discretion is advised.
Eliana reunited with her family, now ruined by fate: Dad jailed, Mom deathly ill, six crushed brothers, and a fake daughter who'd fled for richer prey. Everyone sneered. But at her command, Eliana summoned the Onyx Syndicate. Bars opened, sickness vanished, and her brothers rose-one walking again, others soaring in business, tech, and art. When society mocked the "country girl," she unmasked herself: miracle doctor, famed painter, genius hacker, shadow queen. A powerful tycoon held her close. "Country girl? She's my fiancée!" Eliana glared at him. "Dream on." Resolutely, he vowed never to let go.
I was finally brought back to the billionaire Vance estate after years in the grimy foster system, but the luxury Lincoln felt more like a funeral procession. My biological family didn't welcome me with open arms; they looked at me like a stain on a silk shirt. They thought I was a "defective" mute with cognitive delays, a spare part to be traded away. Within hours of my arrival, my father decided to sell me to Julian Thorne, a bitter, paralyzed heir, just to secure a corporate merger. My sister Tiffany treated me like trash, whispering for me to "go back to the gutter" before pouring red wine over my dress in front of Manhattan's elite. When a drunk cousin tried to lay hands on me at the engagement gala, my grandmother didn't protect me-she raised her silver-topped cane to strike my face for "embarrassing the family." They called me a sacrificial lamb, laughing as they signed the prenuptial agreement that stripped me of my freedom. They had no idea I was E-11, the underground hacker-artist the world was obsessed with, or that I had already breached their private servers. I found the hidden medical records-blood types A, A, and B-a biological impossibility that proved my "parents" were harboring a scandal that could ruin them. Why bring me back just to discard me again? And why was Julian Thorne, the man supposedly bound to a wheelchair, secretly running miles at dawn on his private estate? Standing in the middle of the ballroom, I didn't plead for mercy. I used a text-to-speech app to broadcast a cold, synthetic threat: "I have the records, Richard. Do you want me to explain genetics to the press, or should we leave quietly?" With the "paralyzed" billionaire as my unexpected accomplice, I walked out of the Vance house and into a much more dangerous game.
I sat on the cold tile floor of our Upper East Side penthouse, staring at the two pink lines until my vision blurred. After ten years of loving Julian Sterling and three years of a hollow marriage, I finally had the one thing that could bridge the distance between us. I was pregnant. But Julian didn't come home with flowers for our anniversary. He tossed a thick manila envelope onto the marble coffee table with a heavy thud. Fiona, the woman he'd truly loved for years, was back in New York, and he told me our "business deal" was officially over. "Sign it," He said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He looked at me with the cold detachment of a man selling a piece of unwanted furniture. When I hesitated, he told me to add a zero to the alimony if the money wasn't enough. I realized in that moment that if he knew about the baby, he wouldn't love me; he would simply take my child and give it to Fiona to raise. I shoved the pregnancy test into my pocket, signed the papers with a shaking hand, and lied through my teeth. When my morning sickness hit, I slumped to the floor to hide the truth. "It's just cramps," I gasped, watching him recoil as if I were contagious. To make him stay away, I invented a man named Jack-a fake boyfriend who supposedly gave me the kindness Julian never could. Suddenly, the man who wanted me gone became a monster of possessiveness. He threatened to "bury" a man who didn't exist while leaving me humiliated at his family's dinner to rush to Fiona's side. I was so broken that I even ate a cake I was deathly allergic to, then had to refuse life-saving steroids at the hospital because they would harm the fetus. Julian thinks he's stalling the divorce for two months to protect the family's reputation for his father's Jubilee. He thinks he's keeping his "property" on a short leash until the press dies down. He has no idea I'm using those sixty days to build a fortress for my child. By the time he realizes the truth, I'll be gone, and the Sterling heir will be far beyond his reach.
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