Chapter 7 - THE YACHT MY FATHER BUILT SAVED USThe reef was less than two nautical miles away.
At our speed, we had minutes.
Every alarm on the Celestine seemed to be sounding simultaneously.
Arun ran toward the engine room.
Leo followed.
Maya headed for the bridge.
I remained on the upper deck for half a second, staring at the dark line ahead.
My father's yacht.
His favorite place in the world.
A vessel he'd once told me felt more like home than any mansion he'd owned.
Now it was racing toward destruction because the man I'd married wanted my money.
"Claire!"
Maya's voice snapped me back.
I ran inside.
"What can I do?"
"Emergency shutdown."
"Where?"
"Bridge command isn't responding."
"My father's letter mentioned three overrides."
Maya looked at me.
"Where's the letter?"
"In the compartment."
Too far.
But I remembered parts of it.
One system controlled communications.
One locked out the bridge.
The third...
I closed my eyes.
Dad's handwriting.
Manual propulsion isolation is concealed beneath the port-side chart cabinet.
"There."
I dropped beside the chart cabinet.
Nothing obvious.
Maya joined me.
We searched.
A brass latch appeared behind a decorative panel.
I pulled.
Inside was a red lever protected by a plastic guard.
EMERGENCY PROPULSION CUT-OFF.
"Do it?" I asked.
Maya nodded.
I broke the guard.
Pulled.
Nothing.
Then the engines made a sound like distant thunder shutting down.
The yacht began losing speed.
Ten knots.
Nine.
Eight.
But momentum still carried us forward.
"Turn!"
Maya took the helm.
No response.
"Steering?"
"Hydraulic pressure is failing."
Reef alarms screamed.
Distance:
0.8 nautical miles.
Wind pushed us sideways.
We were slowing.
Not enough.
"Anchor?"
"Too deep here."
Then Arun's voice came over the internal radio.
"Engine shutdown confirmed. I can restore steering hydraulics manually, but I need ninety seconds."
We had maybe two minutes.
"Do it."
I stared through the windshield.
Moonlight revealed pale water ahead.
Shallow.
Dangerously shallow.
Maya attempted the helm again.
Nothing.
0.6 miles.
Then 0.5.
"Come on."
Maya muttered something in Spanish that didn't need translation.
0.4.
The yacht continued drifting.
Suddenly the wheel moved.
"Steering!"
Maya threw us hard starboard.
For several seconds, nothing seemed to happen.
Then the bow slowly turned.
0.3.
The reef passed along our port side.
Too close.
A scraping vibration moved beneath us.
Everyone froze.
Then another.
We had touched something.
But not hard.
The yacht continued turning.
The depth indicator dropped.
Seven meters.
Six.
Five.
Then began rising again.
Six.
Eight.
Twelve.
We were clear.
Maya sagged over the controls.
I laughed and cried at the same time.
Arun's voice came through.
"Are we floating?"
"Barely."
"Good enough."
The rescue vessel contacted us minutes later.
Another craft had continued pursuing Mercer and Adrian.
Their tender had nowhere meaningful to go.
Open water.
Limited fuel.
No supplies.
No plan.
Authorities boarded us shortly after 1 a.m.
For the first time since hearing Adrian's conversation, I stopped moving.
A Coast Guard officer wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.
"You're safe."
Safe.
The word felt foreign.
Maya sat nearby while a medic cleaned the cut on her neck.
Leo's arm required stitches.
Arun had bruising along one side of his face.
The remaining crew were shaken but alive.
I looked at them.
People could have died because of me.
No.
Not because of me.
Because Adrian chose greed.
I needed to remember the difference.
At 1:47 a.m., the radio crackled.
The tender had been intercepted.
Captain Mercer surrendered.
Adrian did not.
Apparently, he tried to jump overboard.
They dragged him back.
I should have felt satisfaction.
Instead, I felt empty.
At dawn, I saw him again.
We had reached port under escort.
Adrian stood on the dock in restraints.
His once-perfect white shirt was torn.
His lip was swollen.
He looked ordinary.
That shocked me more than anything.
This man had dominated my world for two years.
Now he was simply a frightened criminal surrounded by officers.
He saw me.
"Claire!"
I stopped walking.
Maya touched my arm.
"You don't have to."
"I know."
But I turned.
Adrian strained against the officers.
"Tell them this was a misunderstanding."
I stared at him.
"Which part?"
"Claire."
"The drugs?"
He lowered his voice.
"You know I wouldn't hurt you."
I laughed.
A short, stunned sound.
"I heard you plan my murder."
"I was angry."
"You made a financial transfer."
"Mercer manipulated me."
"You brought Vanessa aboard in disguise."
"That was her idea."
I couldn't believe how quickly his confidence disappeared once consequences arrived.
"Nothing is ever your fault, is it?"
His expression changed.
"Your father's money changed you."
That finally made me smile.
"No, Adrian."
I stepped closer.
"It revealed you."
His face hardened.
"You're going to regret doing this."
"What exactly am I doing?"
"Ruining me."
I shook my head.
"You did that yourself."
Then I walked away.
I thought that would be the end.
It wasn't.
David met me at a private medical clinic near the harbor.
After doctors examined me, they drew blood.
The toxicology results came back that afternoon.
The tablets Adrian had been giving me weren't ordinary motion-sickness medication.
They contained a strong prescription sedative.
Enough to cause confusion, memory loss, loss of coordination, and potentially unconsciousness.
Combined with alcohol, they could have been dangerous.
Which meant Adrian hadn't only discussed killing me.
He had been chemically preparing me for it.
David placed the report on the table.
"This strengthens the case."
"Good."
He looked uncomfortable.
"What?"
"There's another problem."
Of course there was.
"What now?"
"Your financial team traced the attempted transfer."
"To Mercer."
"Yes. But that's only one transaction."
My stomach tightened.
"How many?"
"We found activity going back nine months."
Nine months.
Before the wedding.
Before the engagement.
"How much?"
"Approximately eleven million dollars moved through companies connected to Adrian."
My mouth went dry.
"How?"
"Small enough transactions to avoid your attention. Vendor contracts. Consulting agreements. Renovation expenses. Charitable payments routed through intermediaries."
I stared at him.
"He was stealing from me."
"For almost a year."
"Why didn't anyone notice?"
"Because most of the authorizations appear to carry your digital signature."
I looked at David.
"I didn't sign them."
"I know."
"Then who did?"
He slid a printed authorization across the table.
The signature looked exactly like mine.
Below it was the name of the approving financial officer.
I recognized it.
Martin Shaw.
My father's former chief financial officer.
A man who had attended my wedding.
A man I'd known since childhood.
And according to the records David had uncovered...
Martin had approved every suspicious transaction.
Which meant Adrian's conspiracy hadn't started on the yacht.
May you like
It had started inside my father's company.
And one of the people helping him steal my fortune was still sitting in Beaumont Maritime's headquarters.
