Rachel’s impatience began turning into unease.
“Who owns the boat?”
Owen looked toward the stairway leading to the cockpit.
Footsteps sounded above.
Rachel turned.
Someone descended slowly.
First white sneakers.
Then dark jeans.
Then a gray sweater.
Rachel stopped breathing.
Sophie Cole reached the bottom step and looked at her aunt for the first time in almost three years.
She was nineteen now.
Rachel knew that objectively.
She had seen photographs online.
Still, some part of her expected the sixteen-year-old girl who had stood in Benjamin’s driveway during the last family confrontation and said:
“You all keep talking about my father like he was a business problem.”
That girl was gone.
The young woman in front of her had Lucas’s dark eyes.
Benjamin’s stubborn jaw.
And an expression that made Rachel understand instantly that Sophie had known she would be there.
Rachel looked at Owen.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Rachel.”
“How long?”
“About the meeting?”
“Yes.”
“Three days.”
Her voice sharpened.
“And the yacht?”
Owen looked toward Sophie.
Rachel followed his eyes.
Sophie walked farther into the salon.
“You should let him answer.”
Rachel stared.
“Hello to you too.”
Sophie’s expression did not change.
“Hi, Aunt Rachel.”
The word aunt sounded formal.
Not affectionate.
Accurate.
Rachel looked at the box on the counter.
Then the keys.
Then Sophie.
“What is this?”
Sophie glanced toward Owen.
“He said Dad's instructions required everybody to be here before the box opened.”
Rachel froze.
Dad.
For a second she thought Sophie meant Benjamin.
Then remembered.
Sophie had always called Benjamin Grandpa.
Dad meant Lucas.
Rachel’s younger brother.
Dead seven years.
A familiar ache moved through her.
“What does Lucas have to do with the box?”
Sophie looked at her.
“Apparently more than anybody told me.”
Owen interrupted.
“Let's sit.”
“No.”
Rachel shook her head.
“I want to know who owns the boat.”
Sophie looked at the keys.
Then back.
“I do.”
Silence.
Rachel actually laughed.
Not because she thought Sophie was joking.
Because disbelief needed somewhere to go.
“No.”
Sophie did not react.
Rachel turned toward Owen.
“No.”
He leaned against the counter.
“Technically Rock You Marine Holdings LLC owns the yacht.”
“Fine.”
Rachel snapped.
“Who owns the LLC?”
“Sophie owns seventy-five percent.”
Rachel stared.
“And?”
“The remaining twenty-five transferred to her on Dad's death.”
Nothing in Rachel’s face moved.
Then everything did.
“Dad left her the whole yacht.”
Owen shook his head.
“No.”
“You just said—”
“He returned the rest of it.”
Rachel stopped.
The wording mattered.
She heard it.
“Returned?”
Sophie folded her arms.
“That’s what I would like explained too.”
Rachel looked at her brother.
Owen rubbed his neck again.
“Open the box.”
Rachel laughed in disbelief.
“Of course.”
She picked it up.
The kraft-paper seal carried Benjamin Cole’s handwriting across the tape.