Chương 14
Laurent pointed toward the bridge.
“You come with me.”
Florent looked almost relieved.
Then Laurent added, “You stay where I can see you.”
The relief disappeared.
I followed them upstairs.
Elias came behind me carrying the broken radio in one hand.
He looked at it, then at me.
“I liked that radio.”
I laughed once.
It hurt my ribs.
He nodded.
“Good.”
“What?”
“You can still laugh.”
“I’m not sure that was laughter.”
“Close enough.”
The bridge had become busier.
Wind buffeted the windows.
Rain had begun in scattered bursts, hard enough to streak the glass and vanish.
Marc’s replacement stood at the helm.
Another crew member monitored the radio.
Florent was placed in a chair near the rear bulkhead.
No restraints.
No dramatic arrest.
Just three people watching him.
That seemed to bother him more.
He had spent his entire life understanding rooms by knowing who held power.
For the first time since I had met him, nobody in the room was willing to grant him any.
Laurent spoke into the radio.
He gave our position and requested confirmation of the patrol vessel’s approach.
A reply crackled back.
Thirty-eight minutes.
I sat down.
The drugged heaviness had started to recede, but exhaustion remained.
My wrist throbbed where Florent had grabbed me.
Elias noticed.
“You need that photographed.”
Florent flinched.
I looked at him.
He looked away.
I took out my phone.
Fourteen percent battery.
Elias held the phone while I turned my wrist under the bridge light.
The red marks were already deepening.
He took three photos.
Then he photographed the torn document.
“Keep originals.”
Laurent said it without looking over.
“Don’t edit them.”
Elias handed the phone back.
“I know.”
Laurent finally looked at him.
“You used to do this?”
“My ex-wife is a prosecutor.”
I blinked.
“That seems like relevant information.”
“It wasn’t until tonight.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
Florent watched the exchange.
Something painful crossed his face.
Jealousy.
It was so absurd that I almost felt angry on principle.
“You don’t get to do that,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Do what?”
“Look jealous.”
He rubbed his mouth with his thumb.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
He said nothing.
I turned away.
The silence lasted nearly five minutes.
Rain intensified.
The patrol vessel’s position appeared on a display as a small moving marker.
I stared at it as though staring could make it move faster.
Then my father called through the secured satellite line.
Laurent answered first.
He spoke briefly, then handed me the receiver.
My father did not say hello.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.”
“That was not the question.”
“My wrist.”
“How badly?”
“Bruised.”
“Anything else?”
“Nausea.”
He exhaled.
I knew that sound.
It was the sound he made when anger became too large to express without becoming useless.
“Your mother is with me.”
“Is she all right?”
“She is furious.”
That made me close my eyes.
Good.
My mother furious was alive.
“Listen to Laurent.”
“I am.”
“Do not be heroic.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You have inherited enough of my bad qualities already.”
“Apparently not the ability to read contracts.”
He went silent.
I regretted it instantly.
Then he said, “We will deal with documents later.”
The softness in his voice nearly broke me.
I pressed my knuckles against my mouth.
“Dad.”
“I’m here.”
“I signed things.”
“You trusted your husband.”
“I didn’t read them.”
“We will deal with documents later.”
He repeated it exactly.
Not absolution.
Not blame.
A promise to postpone judgment until survival no longer depended on it.
That was the most loving thing he could have said.
A woman’s voice came faintly through the line.
My mother.
“Tell her I love her.”
My father said, “Your mother says she loves you.”
“I heard.”
“She also says Florent is a bastard.”
I laughed.
This time it was real.
Across the bridge, Elias smiled.
Even Laurent’s mouth moved.
Florent stared at the floor.
“Tell her she’s right.”
“I believe she heard that too.”
A crew member raised a hand.
“Captain.”
Laurent took the receiver from me.
The patrol vessel was less than twenty minutes away.
My father said one final thing before disconnecting.
“We are not moving until you are on land.”
I knew exactly what he meant.
No Courchevel.
No road.
No car.
No chance for anyone to finish the second half of the plan.
The weather hit hardest ten minutes later.
The yacht rolled so violently that a cabinet latch failed and charts spilled across the floor.
Laurent ordered everyone seated.
Florent braced himself with one hand against the wall.
For several minutes, murder and inheritance became secondary to the ocean.
That felt almost insulting.
The sea did not care who had money.
It did not care who had lied.
It did not care which man had married me for access to three hundred million euros.
It simply threw us sideways.
I became violently sick again.
Elias found a bag.
Florent started to stand.
Laurent said, “Sit down.”
“She’s sick.”
“Sit down.”
Florent obeyed.
He watched Elias hand me water afterward.
His face had gone pale.
I wondered whether he had imagined this exact scene differently.
Me weak.
Him beside me.
The storm.
The aft deck.
One push.
Maybe afterward he would have told everyone how quickly I disappeared.
Maybe he would have cried.
Maybe part of him even would have meant it.
The thought no longer made me nauseated.
It made me tired.
A horn sounded through the weather.
Everyone on the bridge looked toward the dark water.
A light emerged through the rain.
Then another.
The patrol vessel.
It came alongside as closely as the conditions allowed.
The transfer was not elegant.
Nothing about the night had been elegant.
Harnesses were used.
Crew shouted over the wind.
I was moved first.
Laurent insisted.
Florent objected once.
Nobody listened.
As I crossed the short, terrifying gap between vessels, I looked down.
May you like
Black water churned beneath me.
For a second, I imagined what midnight would have looked like if I had never heard that conversation.
