The heavy canvas of the tarp slid back with a gritty, agonizing scrape, revealing a dull, buttery glow that seemed to swallow the shadows of the cramped wooden shed. Arthur’s breath hitched, his lungs tightening as he ran a trembling, salt-cracked hand over the jagged surface of the mound.
It was cool to the touch, its surface mapped with strange, amber-gold veins that caught the weak beam of his flashlight. After decades of pulling nothing but salt and disappointment from the North Sea, it seemed the ocean had finally decided to pay its debt.
Looking at the yellow-crusted hoard sitting amidst his rusted tools, he knew he held a king’s ransom. A triumphant smile tugged at his face as he locked the shed door, sealing his new life away from prying eyes. He felt like the luckiest man alive, a man reborn. He was rich, and that was all that mattered.
But only if he knew what was coming for him, or how quickly his luck was about to turn into a nightmare he couldn’t escape.