Chapter Forty-One
Valencia, Spain
The air-conditioning hit Caspian as soon as he stepped through the door of the brokerage office.
Even after finishing the small cup of chocolate frozen yogurt just minutes ago, sweat clung to the base of his neck and along the spine of his shirt.
The midday heat outside was climbing toward brutal, and the light breeze off the water hadn’t done much more than move the humidity around.
The woman he’d spotted hadn’t set off any alarm bells in his head, but while her face was partially hidden behind round sunglasses and a brimmed hat, he thought she looked somewhat familiar. But he wasn’t worried, at least not enough to alter his plan.
Caspian let the heavy glass panel swing shut behind him. He kept his sunglasses on, if only to buy him a few seconds to survey the space discreetly.
A woman sat behind a sleek reception desk.
She was in her late twenties, sharply dressed in navy and white, and was tapping a stylus against a digital tablet.
Two men—who Caspian assumed were brokers—stood farther back near a glass-walled office, reviewing what looked like a set of yacht specs.
They were both in their thirties and were dressed as if they were on standby for a regatta shoot.
None of them looked up. Caspian stepped forward.
“Good afternoon,” the receptionist said in Spanish, then repeated it in English without missing a beat.
Caspian answered in lightly accented Spanish.
“Afternoon. I’m hoping you can help me. My client received an invoice from your office.
The charge was over five thousand euros, and it was processed through his credit card without his authorization.
I was never contacted about this, and now my client thinks I withheld information from him. ”
The receptionist was alarmed enough to set her tablet down on her desk. “Are you a broker?”
“No. I’m a lawyer.”
The receptionist sat straighter in her chair. “Do you have the reservation number?”
“I do, but my phone’s dead. It should be easy for you to look it up, though. It’s still ongoing.”
The receptionist stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you saying your client got an invoice while his charter is still underway?” she asked.
“Yes. He’s not thrilled about that. And I’m not, either, considering I wasn’t even informed. Now I have an angry client mid-voyage and no information to work with.”
The receptionist hesitated, but only for a moment. “Shit,” she murmured, then asked, “What’s the name of the yacht?”
“Veloce,” Caspian said. “It’s an Azimut S8.”
“Let me check who the broker of record is,” she said, pivoting to a different monitor behind her. “I’ll need to access the charter log on our secure server. It will just take a moment.”
“Of course,” Caspian said, feigning mild irritation. “I’d appreciate it.”
She began navigating through the internal system. Caspian shifted his backpack to his other shoulder as he scanned the office. The two men he’d seen earlier had now moved deeper inside the office. They weren’t interested in him.
“Here it is,” she said. “The broker of record is Francisco Morientes.”
“That’s right. He’s the one who handled the booking for us.”
“And just to confirm, your client is Blackstone Security, right?”
Caspian had to make an effort to keep a straight face. The receptionist had just given him what he’d come looking for. He could leave now, but what if he could get more intel out of the helpful receptionist? It was worth a shot.
“Also correct,” he replied.
“I’ll call Francisco,” she said, reaching for the desk phone next to her. “He’ll help you out.”
Caspian’s mind was racing, trying to figure out what he’d say to the broker. From where he stood, he could hear the phone ringing. It rang five times before Francisco’s voicemail picked up. The receptionist hung up with a frown.
“He’s not picking up,” she said, clearly annoyed. “Now that I’m thinking about it, I believe he’s out with a client.”
“I can’t come back later,” Caspian said, letting a touch of irritation bleed into his voice. “My client’s furious, and he’s threatening to pull any future bookings. I’m not leaving without something I can show him.”
Again, the receptionist hesitated, caught between protocol and practicality. An instant later, she gave in with a sigh.
“That’s just the thing,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything to show you. I didn’t see any damage listed in the file. There’s no incident report, and no invoice logged in our system. I really don’t understand how your client could have been billed.”
Caspian didn’t say anything. He let the silence sit just long enough to make her uncomfortable. After a few seconds, she offered a strained smile.
“Let me print the charter agreement for you,” she said. “I’m not supposed to, only the broker of record is, but this is silly. Normally, any damages would be reviewed after the charter ends.”
Caspian felt it was now the time to give the woman some slack.
“Maybe my client jumped the gun,” Caspian said. “He can be overly dramatic.”
She gave a half laugh and tapped a key. The printer behind her desk came to life, spitting out a three-page agreement.
“Here,” she said, handing it to him. “This should clear things up. If you want, I can have Francisco call you as soon as he’s back.”
He looked at the agreement, skimming over it. There it was.
Blackstone Security—Client
Justin Burton—Registered Skipper
Francisco Morientes—Broker of Record
He folded the sheets in half and looked at the receptionist.
“Okay,” he said. “Thanks for your help. You’ve been very professional.”
“Can I take your number in case Francisco needs to reach you?”
Caspian rattled off a bogus number, two digits off a real diplomatic number he’d once used in Geneva. She wrote it down without question.
“Thanks again,” he said, then turned and walked out of the office, the cool air giving way once again to the heat.
He unfolded the printout and stared at the names.
Justin Burton. He’d never heard the name.
Blackstone Security. That didn’t ring a bell, either, but he knew Samantha Ranger would find something. He’d call her once he was back in the Audi, with the air-conditioning at full blast. He folded the agreement again and slid it into a side pocket of his pack.