Chapter 6 - The Unblinking Eye
"Mateo," I said, my voice dropping into a register so cold and resolute that the young deckhand straightened his posture instantly. "Do you have access to the main entertainment server in the Grand Salon?"
"Yes, ma'am," he answered, blinking. "The entire yacht is networked via Crestron. The sixty-five-inch display in the Grand Salon is configured for the presentation Mr. Arthur’s marketing team prepared for the birthday."
"The presentation Arthur is supposed to give to the board and his guests before we disembark?"
"Yes. It's pre-loaded with family photos, the company’s history, archival footage of the shipyards."
I reached out and took the iPad from his hands. "Can you route this raw video file—with the audio track from the flybridge ambient microphone—into that presentation loop? Can you make it override the feed the moment Arthur touches the master control pad at the podium?"
Mateo swallowed hard. He knew exactly what I was asking. He was an hourly employee working for a family that possessed more wealth than his entire home village combined. If this went wrong, his career in the maritime industry was dead.
"Mrs. Vance..." he whispered, his hands sweating. "Mrs. Patricia’s family... they have judges on their payroll in Newport. If I cross her—"
"If you protect her, Mateo, you are an accessory to the attempted murder of a seven-year-old child," I said, stepping into his personal space, my eyes holding his with hypnotic intensity. "You pulled Sophie onto that deck. You saw her coughing up seawater. If I hadn't jumped, that little girl would be at the bottom of the Rhode Island Sound right now, and Patricia Vance would be sipping champagne. Do you want to spend the rest of your life knowing you helped a monster drown an innocent child?"
Mateo looked at the frozen image of Sophie on the screen. His jaw tightened. The fear in his eyes was slowly burned away by a deep, working-class rage.
"Give me ten minutes," he said quietly. "I'll hardwire the drive into the salon’s master switcher. Nobody can bypass it from the bridge. Once it plays, it plays."
"Thank you, Mateo."
He nodded once, unlocked the door, and slipped silently out into the corridor.
I walked over to the stateroom closet. Hanging inside was the outfit I had intended to wear for Arthur’s evening celebration: an emerald green, tailored Alexander McQueen trouser suit. It was sharp, architectural, and completely devoid of the soft, pastel fluff Patricia always demanded women wear to family functions.
I dressed methodically. I didn't put on makeup to hide the bruise on my face. In fact, I swept my hair back into a tight, severe low bun, securing it with pins, leaving the violent crimson and purple imprint of Daniel’s hand entirely exposed to the world.
Let them look.
Let every CEO, every socialite, every corrupt attorney in Rhode Island look at what the Vance family did behind closed doors.
There was a heavy knock at the door.
I didn't answer.
The door unlocked from the outside, and Daniel stepped into the room.
He had changed out of his salt-stained clothes into a crisp charcoal-grey suit, but he looked completely unraveled. His tie was crooked, his hair disheveled, and his eyes were bloodshot and sunken. He looked like a man who was drowning in six inches of water.
He saw me standing there in the emerald suit, the bruise stark against my pale skin, and he stopped dead in his tracks.
"Emily," he said, his voice trembling. "The harbor pilot just boarded. We're docking at the Newport Yacht Club in fifteen minutes."
"I know," I replied, fastening the gold cuffs of my blazer.
"We need to talk about what's going to happen when we step off this boat."
"Do we?" I turned to face him, my expression entirely deadpan. "I thought you and your mother already handled that on the satellite phone with the police chief."
Daniel flinched. He looked down at the carpet, his chest heaving. "My mother... she was frantic, Emily. She insisted on calling ahead. She said if we didn't report it immediately, it would look like a cover-up. She said you were unstable, that you lost control—"
"And you believed her."
"I didn't know what to believe!" Daniel shouted, his voice cracking with sudden, hysterical rage. "Sophie screamed that my mother pushed her! Do you have any idea what that did to my head?! My mother raised me! She gave me everything! How could I possibly accept that my own mother would try to kill my daughter?!"
"Because it was easier to hit me," I said, each word landing like a surgical strike. "It was easier to slap your wife, blame the outsider, and protect your inheritance. You took the coward’s way out, Daniel. Just like you did with Clara."
Daniel’s face twisted in agony. He took two fast steps toward me, his hands reaching out, but I didn't flinch. I didn't move an inch. I just looked directly into his eyes with such profound disgust that his hands dropped back to his sides as if burned.
"I didn't mean to hit you," he wept, actual tears finally spilling over his lashes. "I swear to God, Emily, I blacked out. When I saw Sophie in that water, my entire world caved in. I am so sorry. Please... please let me fix this."
"You want to fix this?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm.
"Yes. Anything. Tell me what to do."
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"Walk up to that Grand Salon right now," I said. "Stand beside your father at the podium. And when the screen turns on, Daniel... don't you dare close your eyes."
***
