Chapter 11 - NOLAN STARTS TO CRACKNolan expected grief to buy him time.
Instead, everyone wanted documents.
The yacht docked shortly after sunrise.
Reporters were already gathering beyond the marina gates.
Someone had leaked Raymond’s disappearance.
Nolan put on sunglasses and walked past cameras without speaking.
Diane stayed beside him.
Claire and Elliot left separately.
That bothered him.
At 8:12 a.m., Nolan called Halstead Pacific’s chief operating officer, Grace Whitman.
“My father is missing. I need temporary signing authority.”
Grace answered carefully.
“You already have operational authority within your division.”
“I mean group-level.”
“That requires board approval.”
“I’m his son.”
“It requires board approval.”
“My father may be dead.”
Silence.
Then Grace said:
“Until there is a legal determination, Raymond remains chairman.”
Nolan nearly shouted.
Instead:
“We have creditors. Deals. Payroll.”
“Which are being handled.”
“Grace.”
“Yes?”
“I need access.”
“No.”
The call ended.
Nolan threw his phone onto the hotel sofa.
Marcus Vale sat across from him.
Nolan had met him secretly in a private suite after leaving the marina.
Marcus was fifty-four, silver at the temples, calm enough to make nervous people more nervous.
“You look terrible.”
“My father is missing.”
“Your father is inconvenient.”
Nolan stared.
“Careful.”
Marcus smiled.
“You owe me money. That gives me permission to be practical.”
“You texted that he might be alive.”
“I said missing is not dead.”
“You wrote something else.”
Marcus poured coffee.
“I heard a Coast Guard search continued after an unidentified fishing boat reported recovering debris.”
“Debris?”
“Rumor.”
Nolan relaxed slightly.
Marcus watched.
“If Raymond is dead, what happens?”
“Trust distributions accelerate.”
“Immediately?”
“No.”
“How long?”
“Weeks.”
Marcus frowned.
“I don’t have weeks.”
Nolan’s anger surged.
“Neither do I.”
“Then access company liquidity.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
“My father restricted authority.”
Marcus leaned back.
“So he knew.”
“Some.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“And you solved that problem by taking him onto a yacht?”
Nolan stared.
Marcus smiled faintly.
“I didn’t say you did anything.”
“Then don’t imply it.”
“Relax.”
Nolan stood.
“I’m done.”
Marcus’s voice stopped him.
“If Raymond returns, you owe me on Friday.”
Nolan turned.
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then I wait for probate.”
The word felt obscene.
Probate.
His father reduced to a process.
Nolan left.
Outside, Jordan Blake waited near the elevator.
Nolan froze.
“What are you doing here?”
“You told me to come.”
“I didn’t.”
“You texted.”
Nolan checked his phone.
No message.
Jordan showed his screen.
A text from Nolan’s number:
Come to the Marina Grand. Suite 804. Need to discuss birthday purchase.
Nolan stared.
“I didn’t send that.”
Jordan stepped back.
“What is happening?”
Nolan grabbed his phone.
Possible spoof.
Possible investigator.
Possible Claire.
“Did anyone call you?”
“Coast Guard.”
“What did you say?”
“The truth.”
“What truth?”
“That I did not buy a watch.”
Nolan’s jaw clenched.
Jordan looked at him.
“Why did you lie about that?”
“I panicked.”
“Why would panic invent a Patek?”
Nolan had no answer.
Jordan continued.
“I also gave them the event schedule.”
Nolan froze.
“What schedule?”
“The one you approved.”
“What does it show?”
“Privacy settings.”
His stomach dropped.
“What exactly?”
“That you requested the forward-deck camera zone disabled during your private gift.”
Nolan’s face went white.
Jordan saw it.
“Oh my God.”
“Stop.”
“You did something.”
“Stop.”
“Did you hurt him?”
Nolan grabbed Jordan’s arm.
Hard.
“Lower your voice.”
Jordan looked down at Nolan’s hand.
Then back up.
“Let go.”
Nolan released him.
Jordan stepped away.
“I’m getting a lawyer.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“Exactly.”
The elevator doors opened.
Jordan entered.
Before they closed, he said:
“I used to think your dad was too hard on you.”
Nolan stared.
Jordan continued:
“Now I think he wasn’t hard enough.”
Doors closed.
Nolan stood alone.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Elliot.
Board meeting at 3 p.m. regarding temporary governance. You should attend.
Nolan typed:
Does Dad’s revised trust change anything?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
No answer.
He called Diane.
“Aunt Di, did Elliot tell you anything about Dad’s will?”
“Nolan, please.”
“I need to know.”
“Why?”
“Because if Dad is dead—”
“Stop saying that.”
“He may be.”
Her voice cracked.
“I know.”
Nolan softened.
“I’m sorry.”
Diane whispered:
“He was going to help you.”
Nolan froze.
“What?”
Silence.
“Aunt Di.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Help me how?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he tell you?”
“No.”
“Then why say that?”
“Because he told me Tuesday, ‘I’m going to give Nolan one last chance to clean this up.’”
Nolan’s breathing stopped.
One last chance.
Not disinheritance.
Not destruction.
Chance.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time since the push, an unbearable possibility entered his mind.
What if he had misunderstood?
May you like
What if Raymond had not been about to ruin him?
What if the father he pushed overboard had been preparing to save him?
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