Chapter 2 - The Sinking Deck
The silence that followed Ethan’s question was heavy enough to crush bone. On the phone screen, Denise didn't move a muscle, keeping the camera pointed squarely at the center of the deck like a war correspondent documenting a shipwreck.
Thomas Parker adjusted his silk tie, his posture stiffening into a posture of corporate defense. "We flew in from Atlanta for a celebration of family standing and independent means, Manuel. If your daughter—the one you didn't even invite onto this boat—is the one underwriting your social calendar, we have a fundamental disagreement about what kind of alliance we are entering."
"Thomas, wait, let’s go inside the cabin," Mom pleaded, her voice pitching up into that frantic, performative tone she used whenever one of her carefully constructed illusions began to fray at the edges. "It’s a simple misunderstanding between siblings. Alexandra has always been... eccentric about her business accounts. We’ll straighten it out by noon."
"We can't straighten anything out by noon, Mrs. Vance," the captain said firmly, stepping between my parents and the gangway. "Not unless Ms. Alexandra Vance herself comes down to the marina, presents her identification, and formally revokes her cancellation in writing. Until then, this ship stays tied to the pier. And based on our corporate policy regarding late-stage withdrawals, even if she revokes it now, the restocking fees alone will run another fifteen thousand dollars."
Fifteen thousand dollars.
I watched the numbers register in real time across Dad’s face. His machine shop was currently operating on an 1,800-dollar credit extension I had wired him nine days ago. The idea of coughing up fifteen thousand dollars in cash before sunset was about as realistic as him walking on water.
Riley turned on her heel, her white dress swishing violently against the teak deck, and pulled her phone out of her beaded clutch. Her fingers flew across the screen with the speed of a cornered animal.
She was calling me.
My phone, resting on the passenger seat of the rental car parked across the marina lot, buzzed once. Twice. Then a continuous, desperate vibration.
I didn't pick up.
On Denise’s video screen, I watched Riley throw her head back in frustration, pressing the phone harder against her ear. "She’s not answering! She’s ignoring us!"
"Well, naturally," Ethan said, his voice dangerously flat. He looked at Riley, then down at the engagement ring sparkling on her finger—a ring I knew for a fact had been purchased on a credit card underwritten by my corporate account back in May. "You texted her this morning telling her she wasn't real family, Riley. Why would she bail you out of a contract she owns?"
"You knew?" Riley gasped, her face draining of color. "You knew she paid for it?"
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"I asked who the vendor invoice came from three weeks ago when the deposit cleared," Ethan said quietly. "You told me it was an anonymous angel investor from your mother's social club. But when I looked at the routing number on the receipt, the corporate header matched the tech firm Alexandra runs." He shook his head, taking a slow step back toward the exit ramp. "I think I’m going to go wait in the car, Riley. Let me know when you figure out whose family we’re actually celebrating today."
As Ethan turned and walked down the gangway, a collective murmur rippled through the sixty-eight guests. The illusion was gone. The grand estate of the Vance family was nothing more than a cardboard cutout standing in front of an empty parking lot.
