Ghost hummed to life. The electric motor purred low, almost gentle. The bow nosed forward, sliding off the dock. Skyler's smile widened, then froze.
The wheel locked. She twisted. Nothing. She pressed buttons. The screen flashed red: Access Denied. Auto-Nav Mode Enabled.
Ghost glided away from the dock, smooth and precise, then veered gently to the left, tracing its pre-programmed route. Loop mode had begun.
I watched her mouth move, probably something HOA-themed like, "This is unacceptable!" She waved her hands, pointing at the dock as if the boat would apologize. Ghost, to her credit, ignored the orders.
Then came the yelling. Her hair whipped in the wind as the boat curved, looped, turned again—a perfect figure eight across the calm water. Around minute three, she tried to stand. Bad idea. The deck rocked; she stumbled, barely caught herself on the railing.
I took a sip of coffee and texted Deputy Mark Howard: Unauthorized use of private vessel in progress. I have live footage. Boat safe, intruder unharmed but trapped. Sending GPS coordinates.
He responded within thirty seconds: Copy that. On our way. Don't intervene.
No danger of that. I had the best seat in the house—a digital one.
The next half hour was art. Ghost kept looping, slicing silver wakes through the water as Skyler spun like a disgruntled carousel operator. She shouted something toward the shore, but her voice barely carried across the distance. Her phone probably had no signal out there—the one thing I hadn't even needed to engineer.
When the deputies' cruisers finally rolled up to my property, I drove back. By the time I reached the dock, the sun was painting the lake in orange streaks, and Ghost was on her twenty-second lap.
Deputy Howard met me by the gate. "Evening, Ben."
"Evening, Mark."
He looked at the boat, then back at me. "She, uh... doing okay out there?"
"Depends how you define okay."
He squinted.