The captain’s eyes shifted.
Everything inside me tightened.
“All of it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about Margaret?”
“Claire—”
“All of them?”
“I heard them arguing yesterday.”
“About what?”
“Money.”
That fit.
Adrian had been very interested in family finances before the wedding.
Not obviously.
Carefully.
Estate structure.
Trust protections.
Voting rights.
He said he wanted to understand the responsibilities that came with marrying into the Mercer family.
My father liked that.
Called Adrian serious.
Responsible.
I had loved that about him.
Now every conversation felt contaminated.
The captain said:
“We need to get you off the yacht.”
“No.”
He stared.
“No?”
“If they’re doing what I think they’re doing, leaving openly tells them I know.”
“So?”
“So they change plans.”
“Claire, this is not a board meeting.”
“No.”
“It’s worse.”
I thought of the medical log.
The missing medication.
My altered communications.
My in-laws refusing to leave.
Something bigger was happening.
I asked:
“What is our current route?”
“We’re scheduled for Greyhaven Cay.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Adrian told me we were heading to Evermere South Anchorage.”
“We changed destination yesterday.”
“Who ordered that?”
He looked at me.
“Thomas Cole.”
My pulse jumped.
“He has no authority on this vessel.”
“I told him that.”
“And?”
“He produced a signed operational directive.”
“Signed by whom?”
“You.”
I stared.
“I never signed anything.”
The captain opened another drawer.
Found a document.
My electronic signature appeared at the bottom.
The directive authorized Thomas Cole to act as temporary voyage liaison if I became medically incapacitated.
I laughed.
A single sharp sound.
“They planned this before we boarded.”
The captain said nothing.
I did.
“Greyhaven Cay.”
I knew the place.
Remote.
Privately leased docks.
Minimal customs presence.
A handful of luxury villas.
And one private airstrip.
Perfect if someone needed to move money.
Or a person.
I looked at the captain.
“What happens when we arrive?”
“I don’t know.”
