THE GOLDEN SECRET OF THE FORBIDDEN SEA

Chapter 4A: Ninety Percent of Nothing

The sea stopped moving beneath Clifford's boat.

For one terrible moment, he could not tell whether he was still floating or whether the water had become a sheet of black glass beneath him.

The oars rested motionless in his hands. Beneath the hull, something enormous shifted, sending a low vibration through the wooden boards.

“Aureon?” he whispered.

The golden fish hovered beside the boat, its scales glowing faintly in the darkness. “Do not move.”

Clifford swallowed. “I wasn't planning to jump into the water.”

“For once, your instincts are serving you well.”

A shadow passed beneath them.

It was too large to belong to any ordinary creature. Clifford caught only a glimpse of its shape—a long, indistinct mass moving through the depths, accompanied by two pinpricks of golden light.

His fingers tightened around the oars. “What is that thing?”

“Something that should have remained asleep.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It is the only one you can afford right now.”

The shadow circled once.

Clifford's heart pounded against his ribs. He had seen sharks, barracudas, and enormous rays in these waters. He had faced storms that tossed boats around like leaves. But he had never felt the sea itself holding its breath.

Then, as suddenly as it had stopped, the water moved.

A wave struck the side of his boat. Clifford nearly lost his balance, and the golden light vanished into the depths.

“Row,” Aureon ordered.

Clifford needed no second instruction.

He pulled at the oars until his shoulders burned, steering toward the distant lights of the village. He did not look back, although every instinct in his body urged him to see what followed.

When the first fishing huts appeared along the shore, Aureon slipped beneath the water.

“Wait!” Clifford whispered.

The fish's head emerged beside the boat.

“Remember why you went to the chamber,” Aureon said.

“My parents.”

“Then remember that when the gold is placed before the man you trust.”

Clifford frowned. “You keep speaking as if you know what Ben will do.”

“I know what greed does to people who believe they are entitled to everything.”

Before Clifford could ask another question, Aureon disappeared.

The sea returned to its ordinary rhythm.

By the time Clifford dragged the boat onto the shore, his arms trembled with exhaustion. His clothes clung to his body, and saltwater stung the small cuts on his hands. He was frightened, confused, and desperate to reach home. But beneath all of it lay a fragile, stubborn hope: two gold ingots.

Two pieces of metal that could pay for his father's treatment, buy medicine for his mother, and perhaps give his family a chance to breathe without fear for the first time in months.

He lifted the small wrapped bundle from beneath the boat's bench.

The gold was heavier than it looked.

For the first time in weeks, Clifford allowed himself to imagine his father sitting upright in bed, strong enough to complain about the weather. He imagined his mother sleeping through the night without waking to check whether her husband was still breathing.

He imagined telling them that things would be all right. Then he turned toward Ben's house. He had no idea how quickly that hope would be taken from him.

Ben's office smelled of polished wood, expensive tobacco, and money.

Clifford had visited it countless times since childhood. He had watched men enter with bulging sacks and leave with thin envelopes. He had seen Ben negotiate prices, flatter wealthy buyers, and dismiss struggling fishermen with a single wave of his hand.

Once, Clifford had believed his cousin's success was something the family could be proud of.

Now, as he stood outside the office door, he wondered whether Ben had ever been the man Clifford thought he knew.

He pushed the door open.

Ben sat behind his broad desk, examining a ledger while one of his trusted buyers, a narrow-faced man named Mr. Daramola, studied a set of documents beside him.

Ben looked up; his gaze fell on Clifford's wet clothes, then on the bundle in his hands.

“What happened to you?” Ben asked. “You look as if the sea tried to swallow you.”

“Good morning to you too.”

Ben leaned back. “Have you come to complain about the boat?”

“No.”

“Then make it quick. I'm busy.”

Clifford approached the desk and carefully unwrapped the cloth. Two gold ingots lay on the polished wood. For a moment, nobody spoke.

Ben's expression changed so quickly that Clifford almost missed it. The irritation vanished from his face. His eyes sharpened, and he leaned forward as though the gold had pulled him toward it. “Where did you get these?”

“I found them at sea.”

“Where?”

Clifford looked at him steadily. “We agreed on the payment first.”

Ben's eyes flicked toward the buyer.

Mr. Daramola stopped pretending to read his documents.

Ben picked up one of the ingots. He turned it beneath the desk lamp, examining its surface, then lifted the second and compared their weight.

“Daramola,” he said quietly. “Take a look.”

The buyer moved closer.

He did not touch the gold immediately. Instead, he studied the edges, the color, and the unusual smoothness of the surface. Then he took a small testing instrument from his case and examined a discreet patch.

His eyebrows rose. “Well?”

“It's genuine,” Daramola said.

Ben's mouth curved into a smile. “Both pieces?”

“Both. And the purity is remarkable.” Daramola turned one ingot over. “This isn't ordinary recovered gold.”

Clifford felt his hope rise.

There it was. Proof that he had not wasted his time. Proof that the sea had given him something real. Proof that he might finally bring home the help his parents needed.

He looked at Ben.

“Ninety percent,” Clifford reminded him. “That was our agreement.”

Ben slowly set the gold down. “Ninety percent of what?”

“The sale.”

Ben stared at him for a second. Then he laughed. It was not a loud laugh, but it carried enough contempt to make Clifford's stomach tighten. “I don't remember promising you that.”

Clifford's smile disappeared. “You looked me in the eye and said it.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

Ben folded his hands on the desk. “And you expect the entire village to believe you because you say so?”

“The two buyers were there when we made the agreement.”

“Were they?” Ben asked, glancing at Daramola. “Do you remember me promising this man ninety percent?”

Daramola shifted uncomfortably. “I remember you discussing the boat arrangements.”

“That wasn't my question.”

“I don't remember the exact figures.”

Clifford stared at him.

The men had heard the agreement. He remembered their faces, the way one of them had raised his eyebrows when Ben offered him the boat, and the way the other had glanced at his companion.

They had been there. They knew.

Yet now one would not speak, and the other was being invited to pretend he had heard nothing.

“Ben,” Clifford said slowly, “you know what we agreed.”

Ben's expression hardened. “I know what you wish we had agreed.”

“The boat was offered on the condition that I would receive ninety percent of whatever I found.”

“That's a convenient story.”

“You said it yourself.”

“And you have proof?”

Clifford opened his mouth, then closed it.

He had no contract. No signed paper. Nothing except the memory of a conversation made in a room where he had been too desperate to imagine that his own cousin might deliberately deceive him.

Ben spread his hands.

“The boat belongs to me. I took the risk of lending it to you. You could have returned with nothing, just as you have for weeks. Instead, you've brought me two ingots, and now you expect me to hand over almost the entire value because of a conversation nobody can verify.”

“You know the truth.”

“The truth,” Ben replied, “is that you used my boat to find gold. I am entitled to my share.”

“Ten percent.”

“Exactly.”

Clifford felt the room tilt—not physically, but in the way a person feels when the ground beneath his feet suddenly proves unreliable. “You're changing the agreement.”

“I'm explaining it to you.”

“No. You're changing it because you think I have no choice but to accept whatever you give me.”

Ben's eyes narrowed. “Careful.”

Clifford glanced at the ingots. They had seemed so beautiful when he first lifted them from the ancient chamber. Now they lay on Ben's desk like two pieces of evidence in a trial that had already been decided.

“How much?” Clifford asked.

Ben named a figure.

It was a fraction of what Clifford had expected. Barely enough to cover the first portion of his father's treatment, let alone the medicine, hospital fees, and food that had accumulated while he searched the sea.

Clifford stared at him. “That can't be right.”

“It's ten percent.”

“You know my parents are sick.”

Ben shrugged. “I know you've been telling anyone who will listen.”

“My father's condition is getting worse. The doctor said he cannot wait much longer.”

“Then you should be grateful I am offering you anything at all.”

Clifford's throat tightened.

He had rehearsed this meeting during the entire journey back to shore. He had imagined Ben examining the gold, perhaps asking a few questions, then calculating the sale and handing over Clifford's share.

He had imagined relief.

He had not imagined standing in this office, begging a man who knew his father's life might depend on the money to honor a promise he had made only days earlier.

“My father's life is hanging on this money,” Clifford said.

Ben's face remained unmoved. “Then perhaps you should have thought of that before coming here with empty pockets.”

The words landed harder than a slap.

For a moment, Clifford could hear nothing except the distant sound of waves beyond the village. He looked at his cousin and searched for a trace of hesitation, a flicker of shame, anything that might suggest Ben understood the cruelty of what he had said.

There was nothing.

And suddenly, Clifford understood.