Chapter 9 - The Yacht Trip Was Supposed to Clear Spencer’s Name
Spencer suggested:
the yacht.
“One weekend.”
“Just us.”
“Bring Peyton.”
I laughed.
“You want Peyton?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll show her everything.”
He said Northshore’s integration files were stored on:
a secure laptop
aboard North Star because he had been working there during charter planning.
That should have sounded:
strange.
I wanted:
resolution.
Ava came because I refused to spend two days trapped in awkwardness between:
boyfriend
and:
sister.
Dad was supposed to be:
in San Francisco.
We left Marina del Rey on:
Friday morning.
By noon, Spencer was drinking.
By two, Peyton had looked through the files.
By two-fifteen, her face had changed.
She asked:
“Where are the originals?”
“What originals?”
“The subcontractor statements.”
Spencer said:
“Cloud.”
“Show me.”
“No signal.”
The yacht had satellite internet.
Peyton knew.
Then she found:
a spreadsheet
mapping vendor invoices to transfers.
Three entities ultimately routed payments into:
Hale Crest Partners, a company Spencer had never disclosed to:
us.
Amount:
approximately $6.4 million
over fourteen months.
Not necessarily all stolen.
But unexplained.
Peyton looked at me.
“Andrea.”
Spencer closed the laptop.
“You’re done.”
Peyton stood.
“I’m calling Dad.”
Spencer grabbed:
her phone.
She tried to take it back.
He shoved her toward:
the lower hallway.
Ava screamed.
I moved between them.
Spencer pushed:
me
into the side rail.
Not overboard.
I stumbled, fell against:
a wet deck edge,
and later, while struggling to get away, ended up partly in the yacht’s aft plunge area before Ava pulled me out.
That explained:
the soaked clothing.
Peyton ran downstairs.
Spencer followed.
We heard:
a cabin door slam.
Then:
a lock.
I ran toward the stairs.
Spencer blocked me.
“She stays there until we figure this out.”
That was the moment it became:
confinement.
Not a financial argument.
Not relationship drama.
A crime.
Then Spencer took:
my phone.
Called:
my father.
And demanded:
May you like
papers.
---
