"Not yet," I said. "She's learned more in one loop than a courtroom could teach."
"Still, we'll take statements."
I handed him my phone showing the alerts and timestamps. Then I scrolled through the video: Skyler sneaking in, fumbling at the controls, the exact moment Ghost rolled out to sea.
Howard let out a low whistle. "You know," he said, "I've seen drunk boaters, runaway jet skis, even one guy who launched a pontoon with his truck still attached. But this," he chuckled, "this is art."
"Performance art," I said.
As they escorted Skyler toward the ambulance, she turned to glare at me, eyes bloodshot, lips trembling. "You'll regret this!" she hissed.
"I doubt it," I said.
"Abuse of technology! Endangerment! I'll sue!"
"Get in line," I said. "It's a long one."
She was loaded into the back of the ambulance, still shouting about bylaws and boating ordinances as the doors closed. Howard handed back my phone.
"Well, Ben, I think that's a wrap."
"Appreciate it, Mark."
He tipped his hat. "Next time, maybe set the loop to figure nine, just to keep things fresh."
I laughed for the first time in days. "I'll consider it."
As the sirens faded up the road, I sat on the edge of the dock. Ghost's hull dripped silver threads into the lake. I reached out, patted the smooth fiberglass. "Good girl," I said quietly. Mission complete.