“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 remember thinking that a small piece of brass could recover its direction more easily than I could.

Two days later, Brooke posted a photograph.

Dad was holding my compass.

The caption called it a family heirloom returned to “the man who built everything.”

I stared at the screen.

Someone in Brooke’s family asked whether the yacht would eventually belong to Weston after the wedding.

Brooke responded that Weston had said his father intended to keep it in the family.

That was the moment the situation changed for me.

Until then, I had believed Weston enjoyed letting people assume he was wealthier than he was.

What I saw now was different.

Brooke believed Dad owned Second Wind.

She believed Weston would inherit it.

My brother had built part of his future marriage around a yacht that belonged to me.

I called him.

“Does Brooke know Second Wind is mine?”