6. ABRAHAM
AbrAHAM
SEVERAL HOURS following the meeting at the lawyers office, I occupied a booth at the back corner of Pullman’s bar in the Navy Yard. My second drink in as many days went down cautiously as I waited for my company.
I was still reeling from my meeting with the marine surveyor last Wednesday and I couldn’t put a finger on why everything about the interaction had rubbed me the wrong way, but from the moment he’d stepped onto the Ma Maison, I’d gotten an off vibe.
Having never owned so much as a fishing boat, I didn’t know shit about watercraft that weren’t military issued, but I knew people, and the man who’d been distantly cordial over the phone had switched up the second he laid eyes on the fifty-foot express cruiser.
Eyeing me with suspicion, he’d less than subtly praised the builder more than once, complimenting the custom detail, and I’d read the subtext—where the fuck did this come from? And who the fuck did you steal it from?
Having done a full inspection myself, I’d begun to wonder the same thing. But having just received the surveyor’s appraisal this morning, I was more than wondering now.
Now, I had questions and not only was I on edge, but I suddenly regretted forcing Nineah’s hand with the prenuptial clause. It’d never been my intent to open her up to scrutiny in civil court, but now that she believed it was, she might do something reactive that could draw Vanessa’s attention.
Just then, a young man entered the bar. In cargo shirts and a white polo with a company logo on the front, nearly falling out of his deck shoes and five minutes late, he casually scouted the bar until he glanced over the booth where I was sitting and headed in my direction.
Initially, I’d been wary of his youth and judging from the background I’d run before this meet, his priorities concerned me, but Kevin was known for his discretion, work ethic, and most importantly—his service record.
He hadn’t advertised it on the listing site I’d found him on in a reverse search, but he certainly did in his dating app messages and his gun range membership.
Sliding into the booth, he smelled of salt water and sunscreen like he’d just come off a shift and offered his hand. “I’m Kevin. We spoke on the phone.”
“Lawton.” I shook it. “CrewFinder says you’re looking for something short term, through the summer.”
The kid who couldn’t have been older than early twenties nodded. “That’s right. I normally work six to twelve-man crews for the larger yachts but you said you’ve got a cruiser. I admit, I don’t understand why you don’t just purchase a port and hire intermittent maintenance. Be cheaper.”
“I’m sure it would be.”
The kid sat up straighter. “Well, I’ve got my licensing for operating and maintenance and I’ve handled several different models. What am I looking at?”
“I was actually hoping you could tell me,” I admitted.
Setting the folder I’d brought with me on the table, I removed the photos of the Ma Maison and handed them to Kevin.
“All I know is it was a custom build, originally intended as a gift. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, I’m unable to track down the builder.
” Leaving out the fact that if not for the bill of sale, I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t actually stolen, I hoped I didn’t have to lie, given this wasn’t my area of expertise.
But unlike the surveyor, Kevin didn’t look at me with suspicion.
Studying the photos, he whistled. He handed them back to me.
“Looks like a standard compact model to me, custom detail. Built within the last couple of years or so. As far as any signature aesthetic…” He shrugged.
“I don’t know. I’ve seen similar designs from some of the rich kids up in New England, but they’re real tight lipped about their shit.
It’s like a thing with them. No one wants to be caught dead with the same yacht.
” He snorted. “Stopped crewing for those assholes the second I scraped enough together to make it out here. Thank God.”
“So, I’m looking for a designer that specializes in one of a kind projects?”
The kid shrugged. “Honestly, you don’t have to look that hard. These guys are artists like any other, the medium’s just different. Hell, some of ‘em even put their signature somewhere on board or in the manual.”
I paused at that. “I didn’t find one aboard.”
“That’s ‘cause everything’s mostly digital now. You’d have been given access to one but I’m guessing if you don’t even know who got your commission, then it’s safe to say you probably can’t access the manual.”
Forgiving myself for having underestimated Kevin, I relaxed.
“Aren’t all watercraft required to keep a hard copy on board for situations like this or something?”
“Inland Rules, yeah. Manual, no.”
I exhaled. “Great.”
“Honestly, I don’t see why it matters. Even if you wanted to sell this thing, some rich prick might hassle you about the specs to get you to come down on the price, but ultimately no one’s gonna question it.
” Kevin hesitated for a beat. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I’m maybe starting to feel like I’m being set up. ”
I paused. “Why would you say that?”
He shrugged like any other carefree young man in his mid-twenties, but his blue eyes sharpened slightly.
“I don’t know. Seems like you’re more interested in a consult than an interview, and no offense, but not even my tight ass drill instructor was as obvious as you.
So, who’s the millionaire fucker that owns this boat? And when did it go missing?”
Not reacting to the estimate he’d given on the Ma Maison or his assumptions, I watched him yank the hat down over his head before subtly scanning the exits.
I told him the truth. “My wife.”
Kevin frowned.
“And the boat isn’t missing.” I finished off my beer.
“Sometime within the last year or so, she had the Ma Maison commissioned as an anniversary gift but we split shortly after. I offered to return it to her, but she declined and now I’m considering putting it up for sale, but first I want to see if the builder would be interested in buying it back at a discount as it has yet to be sailed,” I lied.
By the way his blonde brows furrowed, I could tell Kevin wasn’t buying my bullshit, but the fact that he was still sitting said everything. “You were never looking for a crewman.”
“I need someone enmeshed in the industry, who knows the etiquette,” I admitted. “Someone who can blend in and ask questions without raising suspicion. Naturally, I’ll double your normal rate and cover all travel expenses.”
Expression unchanging, Kevin flexed his casual demeanor, but his eyes flashed with the same hunger for a mission I recognized from my youth. I saw the second he’d made up his mind.
“How much we talking?”