Chapter 9 - The Boat Was Never TheirsI called Tom immediately.
“Has anyone asked about Solstice?”
He paused.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
“What did he ask?”
“Ownership records.”
“Anything else?”
“He claimed there was a family interest.”
My hands went numb.
“What did you tell him?”
“That the title is in your name.”
“Good.”
He sighed.
“There was another issue.”
“What?”
“Someone called the marina office asking if the boat was insured.”
“Who?”
“They wouldn't identify themselves.”
I looked at Jesse.
He was sitting silently across from me.
“Did you give them anything?”
“No.”
I thanked Tom.
Then I turned to Jesse.
“You said there's a USB.”
“Yes.”
“Let's open it.”
We used my laptop.
The drive contained hundreds of files.
Spreadsheets.
Bank statements.
Emails.
Loan applications.
Contracts.
And then a folder labeled:
HM
My initials.
I opened it.
Inside were scans of my driver's license.
Old tax forms.
College records.
Employment paperwork.
My Social Security card.
I felt sick.
“How did he get this?”
Jesse looked away.
“Mom.”
I closed the folder.
There were forged signatures across multiple documents.
Some were only for minor business expenses.
Others were for loans.
A few involved property.
One document made my breathing stop.
Declaration of Beneficial Ownership
It stated that I had transferred a controlling interest in a family investment entity.
The entity name was:
Westlake Maritime Holdings.
I stared.
“What is this?”
Jesse shook his head.
“I didn't know this existed.”
I clicked the file.
The transfer date was four years ago.
One year after I left.
The document said I had voluntarily transferred my interest to Robert Mitchell.
I had done nothing of the sort.
Then I saw the signature.
Mine.
Perfectly forged.
I whispered:
“He stole my inheritance.”
Jesse didn't answer.
My phone rang.
Martin.
“Have you opened the drive?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know.”
“How much did my father take?”
“From Westlake?”
“Yes.”
“Approximately $780,000.”
I closed my eyes.
The number was almost impossible to process.
“He stole that from Grandma?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“She had placed the assets in trust.”
“For me.”
“Yes.”
“And my father transferred them.”
“He attempted to.”
“Attempted?”
Martin's tone changed.
“Not everything moved.”
“What remains?”
“Enough to create leverage.”
I sat upright.
“Leverage over whom?”
“Your father.”
My father.
Suddenly the entire thing became clearer.
He needed me alive.
He needed my cooperation.
He needed my signature.
Or at least my silence.
The yacht photograph hadn't simply shown him that I was doing well.
It had shown him that I was reachable.
And more importantly, that I had an asset he could point to.
I looked at Jesse.
“Why didn't he just steal Solstice?”
“Because he can't.”
“But he can try to convince someone else that he owns it.”
Jesse nodded.
“That’s why we need to move.”
My phone buzzed.
An email.
From my marina's insurance company.
Subject:
URGENT: Policy Documentation Review
I opened it.
The body contained one sentence.
Please confirm whether ownership or beneficiary information has changed in the last ninety days.
I stared at the screen.
Jesse saw my face.
“What?”
I turned the laptop toward him.
He read the email.
May you like
Then whispered:
“He's already started.”
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