Chapter 6 - Lydia’s Desperate Move
The salt air of Long Island Sound smelled sharp and cold as I turned off the state highway into the private marina district of Westport. Expensive fiberglass yachts and teak-decked sailboats rocked gently against the floating wooden docks beneath a clear, brilliant October sky.
I parked my station wagon behind an industrial storage shed near the entrance to Pier 4, shielding the car from direct view of the slips.
I grabbed Daniel’s unlocked phone from my purse and sent a single text to Lydia: Traffic on 95 was brutal. Walking down Pier 4 now. Wait on the boat.
Her response came back within ten seconds: Hurry. The captain says the weather window closes at one.
I stepped out of the car. I had pulled my hair back into a low ponytail and wrapped a dark wool scarf around my neck. I kept my hands buried deep in the pockets of my navy coat as I walked down the long wooden boardwalk of Pier 4. The sound of halyards clinking against aluminum masts was the only noise in the quiet harbor.
At the far end of the slip sat a sleek, fifty-foot twin-engine cruiser named The Sovereign. A burly man in an oilskin jacket was securing a heavy braided nylon line to a cleat on the dock.
On the aft deck sat Lydia Shaw.
She was dressed in an expensive cream cashmere coat, oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses perched atop her dark hair, scrolling frantically on an iPad. Beside her on the teak bench sat two large aluminum rimmed flight cases.
She looked up when she heard my boots clicking against the wooden planks.
""Daniel, thank God, you have no idea what—""
She froze.
Her sunglasses slid down her nose. Her mouth fell open in absolute disbelief.
""Claire?"" she whispered, scrambling up from the bench, clutching her designer leather tote bag against her stomach like a shield. ""What... what are you doing here?""
I stepped off the boardwalk onto the boarding gate of the boat with complete, terrifying calm. ""I came to return Daniel's overnight bag. He forgot it on the kitchen island when he was busy signing his full confession for the state police.""
Lydia’s face drained of every drop of color. Her knuckles turned white around the strap of her tote. ""You’re lying. Daniel would never—""
""Daniel gave up the Delaware accounts an hour ago, Lydia,"" I said, closing the distance between us until I stood less than four feet away on the teak deck. ""Marcus Bennett is currently in custody at our corporate headquarters. State troopers are en route to this slip, and harbor patrol has already flagged this vessel's registration.""
The boat captain poked his head out of the wheelhouse, sensing the sudden tension. ""Miss Shaw? Everything alright here?""
""Get this woman off my boat, Captain!"" Lydia shrieked, her composed veneer shattering into hysterical panic. ""She’s trespassing! Cast off the lines right now!""
""Nobody is casting off any lines,"" I said, turning my eyes toward the captain with the absolute authority of a woman who commanded three hundred industrial workers every single day. ""Captain, this vessel is currently involved in an active federal grand larceny investigation. If those engines turn over, you will be booked as an accessory to interstate flight to avoid prosecution. Check your radio.""
As if on cue, the marine VHF radio inside the wheelhouse crackled to life with an urgent automated alert: Coast Guard Station New Haven to all commercial charters in Westport harbor. Vessel Sovereign, registration NY-4482, hold position immediately.
The captain backed away from the helm with his hands raised, his eyes wide. ""Lady, I don't know who you are, but I’m just paid by the hour. I ain't going to federal prison for anybody."" He stepped off the bow onto the dock and walked swiftly toward the marina office.
Lydia backed toward the stern of the boat, her eyes darting between me and the empty water behind her. ""You think you're so righteous, don't you, Claire? Little Claire Bennett, the precious granddaughter who inherited everything without working a single day on the docks!""
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""My grandmother built this company from nothing while your father was busy losing your trust fund in Atlantic City,"" I said cold as ice. ""Where is the hardware token, Lydia?""
""Go to hell!"" she screamed. She lunged toward the open railing, clutching a small, silver thumb drive she had pulled from her coat pocket, intending to throw it into thirty feet of murky saltwater.
