30
Principality of Monaco
September 27, 5:00 p.m. CET
The next afternoon, several hours before the awards party, my mother arrived at the door of my hotel room, a hairdresser and makeup artist in tow.
I looked at her with exasperation. “Is this necessary?”
“Whether we win tonight or not, you must look your best.” Her eyes glimmered and she blinked. “You are up there for Cass as well as yourself.”
I softened. “Of course.”
She waved the women in, gestured for them to set up in the oversize bathroom, then crossed to the bar and pulled out the makings of a martini.
“And,” she said, “you’re representing not only Cass, but Ocean House.”
“You might regret that later.”
She paused and turned to look at me. “You’ll win,” she said, misunderstanding. “ Odysseus is art, pure and simple.”
“Sure.” I smiled. “I love you, you know. Remember that.”
She abandoned the drink fixings and came to stand next to me. “I love you, too, ma chérie . Now show me this Versace you bought in Salzburg.”
I led her to the closet and held out the emerald-green gown. Green means go, I’d told myself as I’d handed over my credit card. The flowing skirt and tight bodice, the bare shoulders and deep V in the back, these were unusual choices for me—I had always dressed conservatively, unwilling to draw attention. But tonight was different. I was different.
Isabeth clicked her tongue. “It’s stunning.”
“It’s for courage,” I said.
She placed her hand on my arm. “You are our beautiful and devoted Nadia. That is all the courage you need.”
She returned to the makings of her martini. “I saw you with Matthew. It’s lovely he’s here to support you.” She shot me a glance. “He is a perfect match for you. Have you considered that?”
“Perfect because of his money or his connections?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Because he loves you. You’ve been moping ever since what’s-his-name ran back to London. It’s time to have a committed man in your life. And it doesn’t hurt that Matthew comes with certain ... amenities. A woman should marry well. Marry someone who complements her.”
“Matthew’s money and my design skills?” She laughed but I shook my head. “You are mercenary. And my personal relationships are off the table.”
“As you wish, ma chérie . Just remember, you are in the flush of your beauty right now. A prize for any man. Be selective. But don’t wait.” She sipped her martini. “Guy and I aren’t perfect together. But we’re better together than apart. I can’t imagine life without him.”
I turned away so she wouldn’t see my sudden tears.
I let the women work their magic. With each brushstroke, each hairpin, each dab of makeup, I thought of Prince Sang Nila Utama and the merlion and how I would feel tonight when I sacrificed the crown of Ocean House in the hope that doing so would lead us to land.
The evening was a blur until the awards began. Rob had flown in just for the event, and he and Isabeth hovered by my side, Rob gushing repeatedly over my dress, my hair, my flawless face. Matthew came and went, offering drinks and whispers of encouragement. Other attendees zoomed in and out of my telescopic vision—well-wishers and the merely curious. Members of my design team were there, giddy with champagne and anticipation. The owners of the Odysseus came by, brimming with excitement.
“We’re going to win, Nadia,” Jerry Boyce said. “ Odysseus is superlative.”
I caught Brandon Paxton’s towering presence as he moved through his own throng of well-wishers. And once, from the corner of my eye, I thought I caught a glimpse of Connor. But when I turned to follow him, he’d vanished.
Perhaps he’d never been there.
Then, in no time at all, the emcee was announcing the finalists for the MYS/Finest New Superyacht Award for best overall design—the pinnacle of the awards ceremony, the greatest honor, the reason many of us had come.
Unwittingly, my eyes sought out Brandon Paxton. He stood nearby in a knot of people. When my gaze caught his, he raised his glass of bubbly with a sardonic grin.
“May the best man win,” he called above the noise of the crowd.
“The best woman,” I mouthed.
I kept my expression cool, but my own champagne burned in my stomach.
What would I do if we didn’t win? Force my way up onstage?
Why not? Twenty minutes from now, I’d have absolutely nothing left to lose anyway.
Onstage, the emcee raised his hands. “And now for the award everyone’s been waiting for.”
Silence fell. A silence so deep it seemed everyone in the vast room had stopped breathing, stopped moving.
My team gathered around me. With painstaking slowness, the emcee announced the finalists. With each name, a photograph appeared on the screen behind him, showing the nominated yacht.
He picked up an envelope. He held the room for a moment, ratcheting up the tension until I felt like a piano wire tuned too tight.
He opened the envelope. “And now, without further ado, your winner. Nadia and Cassandra Brenner and the team from Ocean House for Odysseus !”
The world released its suffocating hold. Calm fell over me. I knew what I had to do.
I slammed down the rest of my drink. I whooped with my family and members of my design staff and the owners of Odysseus . We surged up the stairs and onto the stage, where I accepted the glass trophy and held it aloft with two hands for the requisite photos. I handed the trophy to my team lead, then ran through a list of people to thank, mentioning everyone on my team by name and offering my loving gratitude to my family.
Then I leaned into the microphone. “I’m going to break with tradition now and ask that my family and this fantastic design team leave the stage.” I turned to the owners. “Jerry and Marilynn, the two of you as well.”
A surprised murmur ran through the audience and those onstage with me. But no one argued. Rob squeezed my elbow, innocent of what I was about to unleash.
Then, before a crowd of hundreds, I drew in a deep breath, released it, and began.
“Ocean House has a proud and glorious history. My great-grandfather, Josef Brenner, began his career in Mattsee, Austria, under the tutelage of the renowned Klein family. He began as a carpenter, but quickly mastered other crafts. Machinist. Varnisher. Painter. Designer. Project manager. Over time he worked his way almost to the top, although the highest positions were held for members of the Klein family.
“But then he did reach the top.”
I glanced at Brandon. He frowned back.
“From Austria, my great-grandparents moved to Seattle, where they established Ocean House. It wasn’t long before Josef’s company became synonymous with the best bespoke boats in the industry. Our boats have carried kings and duchesses, tycoons and robber barons. Their son, Erich Brenner, my grandfather, continued the tradition.”
The crowd was getting restless. They thought I was making a sales pitch.
“There have been some who have questioned if our time has come and gone. If Paxton Yachts is the new royalty of yacht building. Perhaps people are right. I am in the unfortunate position of being biased and thus unable to see the big picture.” This got a laugh.
From where he stood just below me, Rob now wore the shit-eating grin. He pumped a discreet fist. “You go,” he mouthed.
I looked away, then back. “But that is not why I’m speaking to you tonight. I’m here because I have recently learned some things about my family that I feel compelled to share.”
The smile slid off Rob’s face like a shade coming down.
“My great-grandfather Josef had unquestionable talent. If World War II hadn’t happened, I’m sure he still would have done well in the world. But it wasn’t talent that led to his position at the top of Klein Marine. It was his membership in the National Socialist German Workers’ Party. The Nazi Party.”
A collective gasp, and then the crowd went quiet. Far away, somewhere in the port, a boat sounded its horn. Closer by on the dock, a man laughed. But inside the yacht club, there was utter silence.
“When the Nazis came to power in Austria, Klein Marine was Aryanized, and most of the Klein family living in Mattsee were taken to the camps. Four were spared. Asher Klein, who was the patriarch of the family and the founder of Klein Marine. His two sons, Ethan and Elias. And a third Klein child. These three men were retained by the Nazis for their skills when Klein Marine was converted from building yachts to building and repairing ships commissioned by the Kriegsmarine—the Nazi navy.
“In the middle of the war, Klein Marine’s new Aryan owner—a Nazi officer—decided that Asher and his sons had outlived their usefulness to the cause. But rather than send the men to the camp at Mauthausen, he decided to test my great-grandfather’s loyalty. He ordered the Klein men to stand against the brick wall of their own office building. Then he put a gun in Josef’s hand, aimed his own revolver at Josef’s head, and ordered my great-grandfather to kill his former bosses.”
From the direction of the kitchen came a crash of glass and a man’s curse. Then silence again. I curled my fingers around the edges of the lectern. I was almost to the worst part, and a shameful voice inside me ordered me to shut up . To cut and run before I brought down our beautiful, aristocratic house of cards.
I did not look at my mother or uncle.
“I will never know what thoughts were in my great-grandfather’s mind as that officer held a gun to his head. Did Josef decide that it was better to perpetrate evil than to be its victim? Did some part of him relish destroying the men who had held him back? Whatever his reasons, in that moment, he chose to fire the fatal shots. Immediately after, German laborers sank the bodies in the Obertrumer See.”
Now a buzz ran through the crowd, a sound like a giant wasp’s nest ready to boil forth its venomous contents.
“Now to the fourth Klein. Noah was eight when the Nazis came to power. For two years, his family hid him at Klein Marine, right under the noses of their German overlords. My great-grandfather—out of spite or fear or desperation—told that Nazi officer about the boy hiding within one of his father’s builds. Noah was taken to be drowned alongside the bodies of his father, Elias, his uncle, Ethan, and his grandfather, Asher.”
The low buzz rose to a swell, like a wave about to crash. I held up a hand.
“I have recently learned that Noah survived. He grew up and married. Had children. Grandchildren. I’ve brought in an investigator to find Noah’s descendants so that we can decide how best to make restitution for what we took from them.”
As I stared out at the sea of appalled faces, it would have been easy to cry. Easy to let loose the pain that gripped me. But I held fast. Any tears I shed I would find false. Or, worse, as if instead of the Kleins, I were the victim.
I drew in my breath and released it. It no longer mattered what people thought. I had spoken the truth, and that was what mattered.
“I have come to realize that very few men and women are all good or all evil. Each of us has the capacity for both. That said, I also believe that there are acts which cannot be forgiven. Will Ocean House survive what I am sharing with you? I don’t know. Everyone in this room will judge for themselves what they wish to do in response to what I’ve recently learned and shared tonight. I ask that you weigh our hearts and intentions with open minds.”
I released my grip on the podium and stumbled as I moved away, my legs weak and my eyes blurring with tears I wouldn’t shed.
No one came to help me.
I plunged down the stairs and through the crowd, which parted before me as if I’d become a leper. I caught Rob’s face—white with shock—as he hugged a sobbing Isabeth. For an instant, my eyes met his, and I saw what my words had cost him. Rob, I realized in a flash, was ego piled on ego. Without the prestige of Ocean House, he became a simple boat designer. A man who couldn’t justify his aristocratic manners or on-brand accoutrements.
We can’t carry this generational rot, I wanted to tell him. It’s not who you taught me to be. We have to be the good guys.
His stare was cold enough to pierce my heart. Then he turned his back.
The wave of people crashed forward with a thunder of voices and motion. Journalists held up their press passes and lunged after me. A few people applauded; others called out slurs. Phones and video recorders were held up to capture my image. I caught a glimpse of Matthew elbowing his way through the throng, trying to reach me. And Brandon’s face, smug and cool.
Then Lukas appeared and took my elbow. He stiff-armed his way past knots of people and bustled me behind a curtain and through a side door. He’d clearly scoped out the place earlier.
“Where to?” he asked.
I froze in indecision. Where to, indeed? Matthew’s yacht? My hotel? A bar somewhere across the border with France?
What did it matter anymore?
“The hotel,” I said, suddenly bone tired. I’d lock my door, drop my phone in the toilet, and sleep for a week. Then decide. Maybe I’d stay in Monaco forever.
Connor burst through the same door Lukas and I had just used. Lukas pushed me behind him, then relaxed when he recognized Connor from the Bar Américain.
“Tell him you can talk later,” Lukas growled. “We’ve got a mob to escape.”
“My car is waiting out back,” Connor offered.
Lukas looked at me. I nodded, and he and I followed Connor through an exit door, down a set of stairs, and out into the night.