I turned to my brother.
“Full disclosure.”
“Of what?”
“Your finances.”
He laughed.
“No.”
“Then Margaret can proceed through whatever lawful process is available under the claims we acquired.”
His laugh vanished.
“You’d do that?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“A realistic repayment proposal if repayment is due.”
“I don’t have the money.”
“I know.”
He looked startled.
“You know?”
“Yes, James. That’s one of the reasons distressed claims can be assigned under distressed terms.”
Margaret’s mouth moved almost imperceptibly. On anyone else it would have been nothing. On Margaret, it was nearly a smile.
“And,” I continued, “I want you to stop asking Mom and Dad to borrow money for you.”
Dad cut in.
“That is none of your business.”
“It becomes my business when you send them to collect from me.”
He went silent.
I looked at James again.
“No more using them as intermediaries. If you need something, ask directly.”
He stared at the table.
“And if you say no?”
“Then no means no.”
He gave a bitter little laugh.
“That easy?”
“That difficult.”
They left about forty minutes later.
Not peacefully.
Mom called me heartless.
Dad announced that he would have his own lawyer review everything.
Margaret encouraged him to do exactly that.
He hated that answer because he had wanted the threat of another lawyer to frighten me. Instead, she treated independent legal advice as the sensible next step.
James took copies of the documents.
At the gangway, he stopped and turned back.
“What happens if I can’t pay?”
I looked at him.
“We find out what the agreements and your actual finances support.”
“No tricks?”
“No.”
“No trying to bankrupt me because you’re angry?”
“No.”
He studied my face.
“Why not?”
The question surprised me.
“Because I’m trying to stop being this family, James. Not become the most powerful version of it.”
For the first time that morning, he had no answer.
He left.
Ten minutes later, Leo appeared.
“Are they gone?”
“Yes.”
He glanced toward the gangway.
“Permanently?”
“Don’t sound so hopeful.”
He blushed.
“Sorry.”
“Leo.”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong yesterday.”
His eyes dropped.
“I let them on.”
“They lied to you.”
“I should’ve called.”
“Yes.”
His head lifted in surprise.
“And next time, you will.”
He nodded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No one aboard this yacht gets fired because a guest claims to know me. If someone pressures you, call the captain or call me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And take the rest of your break.”
This time he smiled before he walked away.
I went back to my bedroom.
The sheets had been changed. My robe was gone. Someone had removed the open jar of face cream. A clean crystal tumbler sat beside the decanter.
I did not pour a drink.
I picked up the compass instead.
The brass felt warm from the sunlight.
When everyone panics, find north.
For years, I had kept those words as evidence that my father once loved me.
That morning I understood something more complicated.
He had loved me.
People can love you and still hurt you. They can give you wisdom they later fail to live by themselves. One truth does not cancel the other.
The next two months were ugly.