“It’s only for the closest family,” my dad told me as eighty guests boarded my $1.2 million yacht for my brother’s engagement party, while he laughed and thanked me for the free venue. I didn’t argue or beg to be included. I waited until they cleared the harbor, then sent the captain six words—and minutes later, the yacht began turning back toward shore.

I wanted to believe we had another chance.

So I agreed to let Weston use Second Wind under specific conditions.

I did not hand him the keys and hope for the best.

My maritime attorney, Nina Serrano, drafted a formal use agreement.

Weston would pay for fuel, provisions, additional dockage, and any uncovered damage resulting from his use.

Every outing had to be operated by an approved licensed captain.

He could not charter the yacht.

He could not pledge it as collateral.

He could not transfer ownership.

He could not rename it.

Most importantly, he could not represent himself as the owner.

I remained owner of record, and I could revoke his permission in writing.

Weston initialed every page.

Dad laughed when the agreement was signed.

“This is what happens when family stops trusting family.”

“No,” I said. “This is what happens when the asset costs seven figures.”

He rolled his eyes.