He looked at her for a moment.
"I'll be candid," he said. "The family has been with Keelhaven for six years. They've been happy. But there's a feeling in the office, and I'm only reporting it, that the management fee buys a certain kind of partnership, and that partnership means solving problems rather than creating them. I know you know there are other firms who'd be happy to have this vessel."
"Fairlead," she said.
He did not blink. "Among others."
"Mr. Kemble, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"In August you sent the captain an email telling him there would be no additional crew costs approved through the end of the season. That was after his second deckhand and his third stew left in Nantucket. He asked for two temporary crew through the agency at day rates until the yacht got to the Caribbean, and you said no. Do you remember that?"
The smile stayed exactly where it was. "I'd have to look at it. I send a lot of emails."
"I'll forward it to you," she said. "I've got it. He copied the office." She looked at her watch. "That's my five minutes. I'll come and find you when I know something."
She went forward through the dining saloon and up the main stairs, a sweeping curve of glass and stainless steel, and through the door marked CREW ONLY at the top, and up a narrower set of steps, and into the wheelhouse.