Chapter 1 - THE SPLASH
The martini hit my face before I understood Eleanor Richardson had actually thrown it. Cold gin ran down my hair, neck, and pale cream dress. An olive slid across my collarbone and dropped onto the teak deck of the Richardson family yacht while eight people at the marina pretended not to stare.
My name is Sienna Blake. I was thirty-two years old, dating Julian Richardson for eleven months, and until that afternoon I had believed the worst thing about his mother was that she never let anyone finish a sentence.
I was wrong. Eleanor stood in front of me in a white designer suit, one hand still lifted from the throw.
“Service staff belong below deck.” For one second I thought she was making a disgusting joke about my dress, which was simple compared with hers.
Then I looked at Julian. He remained seated. Dark charcoal shirt. Olive trousers. One hand around a drink.
He looked away. “Stop embarrassing my family.”
That hurt more than the martini. His father, Charles Richardson, stood near the aft lounge in a dark green blazer and said nothing.
I wiped my face. “Julian, are you serious?”
He did not answer. Eleanor stepped closer.
That was when I should have left. Instead I said: “Your son invited me.”
Eleanor’s mouth tightened. Then she shoved me.
Two hands. Hard. No warning.
My lower back struck the rail. The sky tilted.
For half a second I saw Julian finally stand. Then I went over.
The water hit like concrete. Cold swallowed everything.
I came up coughing. Above me, Eleanor rushed to the railing.
Julian and Charles stood behind her. I expected someone to throw a life ring.
Nobody moved. Then something bumped my shoulder.
A thick brown legal document folder floated beside me, partially open, soaked at the edges. I grabbed it instinctively because it was sinking.
Eleanor saw. Her face changed. Not concern. Fear.
She gripped the railing. The brown folder carried a small embossed seal.
RICHARDSON MARITIME HOLDINGS. I had seen that seal once before.
On a confidential file in the office of the private investment firm I secretly controlled through a holding company Eleanor had tried to buy two years earlier. She had never known I was the owner.
Then a page slid halfway out of the folder. Only three words were visible.
CONTINGENT OWNERSHIP SCHEDULE. Eleanor’s lips parted.
Charles went pale. Julian whispered something I could not hear.
May you like
And I understood, floating beside a yacht while the family who thought I was beneath them stared down in horror, that the folder had not fallen into the sea by accident. Someone on that yacht had been carrying proof of a transaction the Richardsons did not want me to see.
The question was not why Eleanor recognized it. The question was why a document tied to my private company was on her boat at all.
