Not perfect.
Clear enough.
“Now we turn around.”
“No.”
He looked ready to shout.
“Claire.”
“They still need the confirmation.”
“So?”
“I want to know how they plan to get it.”
“That is insane.”
“Probably.”
Mara said:
“She’s right.”
The captain stared at her.
“You’re encouraging this?”
“No.”
“I’m saying if we interrupt now, Thomas claims it was a financial misunderstanding.”
“Adrian claims Claire authorized everything.”
“Margaret says she knew nothing.”
Mara looked at me.
“If they attempt to administer medication or obtain a signature while Claire is impaired, that changes the evidence.”
The captain hated it.
I hated it.
We did it anyway.
But we changed one thing.
The Mercer Star quietly altered speed.
Not course.
The engines reduced just enough to delay our arrival at Greyhaven.
The captain blamed a cooling-system warning.
That gave us time.
And through the emergency engineering channel, a message finally reached Mercer family security.
No tactical helicopter.
No dramatic fleet.
Just one encrypted acknowledgement.
MESSAGE RECEIVED. DO NOT APPROACH GREYHAVEN DOCK. SUPPORT EN ROUTE.
That was enough.
At 8:40 p.m., Adrian came for me.
I had spent the afternoon pretending to deteriorate.
Slurred speech.
Heavy eyelids.
Weak legs.
It was humiliating.
Effective.
“Claire?”
I looked at him slowly.
“Hmm?”
He sat beside me.
“There are some papers I need you to sign.”
Of course.
“What papers?”
“Insurance.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
He placed a tablet on my lap.
I stared at it without focusing.
“Can’t tomorrow.”
His grammar slipped.
I almost smiled.
“No.”
Adrian’s face tightened.
“Claire.”
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
He held my hand.
Then placed my index finger against the biometric pad.
I pulled away weakly.
“What’s that?”
“Just verification.”
Behind him, Margaret entered.
She was carrying tea.
My skin crawled.
“Sweetheart,” she said.
“You should drink.”
There it was.
The same mother-in-law who had called me her daughter.
I looked at the tea.
“No.”
Margaret’s smile remained.
“It will help.”
“I don’t want it.”
Adrian looked at her.
Something passed between them.
Then Thomas entered.
No charm.
No concern.
He closed the door.
“Claire.”
I looked up.
He crouched.
“We need you to complete a financial authorization.”
I let my head fall slightly.
“What?”
He spoke slowly.
As though I were stupid.
“Adrian is going to help manage some accounts while you’re sick.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“You already agreed.”
“No.”
Adrian whispered:
“Dad.”
Thomas ignored him.
“Claire, touch the screen.”
I looked at Adrian.
He could stop it.
One sentence.
That was all I wanted.
One last chance.
Instead, he took my hand.
“I’m sorry.”
The grief inside me disappeared.
Good.
I sat upright.
Completely straight.
Adrian froze.
Margaret’s cup stopped halfway to the table.
Thomas stepped backward.
I said:
“Sorry for what?”
Silence.
Adrian’s face went white.
“You…”
“I what?”
Thomas moved toward the door.
It opened before he reached it.
The captain stood there.
Beside him were two plainclothes security officers who had boarded from a Mercer tender twenty minutes earlier under cover of the engine slowdown.
No guns raised.
No shouting.
One held a body camera.
The other said:
“Mr. Cole, please step away from Claire Mercer.”
Thomas stared.
“How did you board?”
The captain answered:
“Same way people have boarded ships for thousands of years.”
I almost laughed.
Margaret backed toward the window.
