Calvin reached the door of Cabin 3. He didn't knock. He raised his heavy boot and kicked the flimsy wooden door wide open.
The door slammed against the interior wall with a deafening crack. The laughter inside died instantly, cut off like a choked nerve.
Tanya jumped in her seat. The pink envelope slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the dusty floorboards.
Calvin stood in the doorway, his face purple with rage. He glared at the makeup and snacks scattered across the table.
He screamed at them, demanding to know if they thought taxpayer money was funding their summer vacation.
Julieta recovered first. Her hand flew to her perfectly curled hair. She widened her eyes, putting on a sickeningly sweet, innocent voice, claiming they were just taking a mandatory water break.
Calvin didn't buy a second of it. He cut her off, pointing a thick finger toward the river.
He warned them that if the riverbed wasn't completely cleared by sunset, he would revoke every single one of their community service credits.
At the word "credits," all three girls turned pale. Those credits were their golden tickets to Ivy League college applications.
Calvin sneered at them. He spun on his heel and marched away, his heavy footsteps fading into the dirt.
The cabin was dead silent. The three girls breathed heavily, staring at the door in shock.
Just as they started to relax, a tall shadow fell across the floorboards, blocking the sunlight.
Bridget stood in the doorway. She kept her hands buried deep in the pockets of her canvas coat. Her posture was relaxed, almost bored, as she stepped over the threshold.
Tanya looked up. She let out a high-pitched shriek, pointing a trembling finger at Bridget, stammering incoherently.
Bridget ignored her completely. Her eyes locked onto the pink envelope lying in the dirt.
She walked forward. She bent down, her movements smooth and deliberate, and picked up the letter. She casually flicked the dust off the paper.
Gretel, the other follower, lunged forward to grab it back. Bridget merely shifted her gaze and looked at her. The look was so heavy, so filled with absolute authority, that Gretel froze mid-step.
Gretel shrank back, terrified by the deadness in Bridget's eyes.
Julieta dropped her innocent act. Her face twisted into an ugly sneer. She spat out that it was a shame Bridget didn't finish the job in the lake.
Bridget let out a short, dry laugh. She folded the letter neatly, slid it into her pocket, and turned her full attention to Julieta.
Using the sharp, clipped tone of a corporate executive dressing down an intern, Bridget stated that Julieta's crisis management skills were pathetic.
She mocked Julieta for relying on cheap tears to manipulate middle-aged men, calling the tactic embarrassing and amateur.
Julieta's mouth fell open. The vocabulary and the sheer condescension in Bridget's voice short-circuited her brain. Her cheeks flushed a deep, angry red.
Bridget took a step forward. The air in the room seemed to compress. She pointed out that their panic over the mayor proved they had zero actual power here.
Tanya tried to defend her boss. She yelled that Bridget was just a white-trash loser.
Bridget didn't even turn her head. She kept her eyes on Julieta and snapped, "Shut up. Assistants don't speak in the boardroom."
The brutal, accurate demotion hit Tanya like a physical blow. She snapped her mouth shut, her face burning with humiliation.
Bridget held out her right hand, palm facing up.
Her voice dropped an octave, turning into a hard command. She ordered Julieta to hand over the rest of the letters immediately.
Julieta's hands instinctively clamped down over her leather purse. A flicker of genuine panic crossed her eyes.
Bridget saw the micro-expression. Her thumb rubbed against her index finger. She smiled-a cold, terrifying smile. She was ready to break her.
