The captain blamed a cooling-system warning.
That gave us time.
And through the emergency engineering channel, a message finally reached Mercer family security.
No tactical helicopter.
No dramatic fleet.
Just one encrypted acknowledgement.
MESSAGE RECEIVED. DO NOT APPROACH GREYHAVEN DOCK. SUPPORT EN ROUTE.
That was enough.
At 8:40 p.m., Adrian came for me.
I had spent the afternoon pretending to deteriorate.
Slurred speech.
Heavy eyelids.
Weak legs.
It was humiliating.
Effective.
“Claire?”
I looked at him slowly.
“Hmm?”
He sat beside me.
“There are some papers I need you to sign.”
Of course.
“What papers?”
“Insurance.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
He placed a tablet on my lap.
I stared at it without focusing.
“Can’t tomorrow.”
His grammar slipped.
I almost smiled.
“No.”
Adrian’s face tightened.
“Claire.”
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
He held my hand.
Then placed my index finger against the biometric pad.
I pulled away weakly.
“What’s that?”
