Chapter 21 - The Ghost of Maine
Julian took the wooden stairs two at a time, wiping machine grease from his forearms with a faded blue rag. "Emily? I heard glass—"
His words died in his throat the moment his eyes landed on me. I was standing frozen by the gunwale, the shattered remnants of my ceramic mug scattered across the wet teak deck. The dark pool of coffee bled between the planks, dripping into the salt water below. But it wasn't the broken mug that arrested him; it was the weathered brass-banded box sitting on the cockpit table, and the trembling piece of paper clenched in my fist.
"Emily, what is that?" Julian asked, his voice dropping into that quiet, cautious register he used whenever a squall blew in unannounced.
"It’s from my father," I whispered, the words scraping my throat like sand. "Delivered just now. By courier."
Julian frowned, stepping closer. The morning sun caught the sharp angles of his jaw, highlighting the silver threading through his dark hair. "Your father passed away months ago. Before we even left Boston."
"I know." I held out the letter. My fingers wouldn't stop shaking. "Read it. Please."
He looked at me with deep concern before reaching out and taking the sheet. As his eyes tracked across the neat, spidery script of Arthur Vance, the color slowly drained from Julian’s weathered face. His jaw locked. His breathing hitched, shallow and erratic, until his gaze hit the final lines.
*Julian’s lost partner didn't die in that fire, Emily. He is alive. And he has been waiting for you both to come home.*
Julian stumbled back half a step, his shoulder hitting the stainless-steel rigging. The paper fluttered in his slackened grip. "No. No, that’s impossible. Caleb was inside the loft when the fuel tanks blew. I felt the heat on my face. I dug through the ash with my bare hands until the fire marshals dragged me away. He was dead."
"Julian, look at the seal," I pleaded, stepping toward him, gesturing to the heavy wax anchor pressed onto the wooden crate. "My father didn't lie about matters of blood and debt. He hired you five years ago. You told me you ended up in that harbor by chance after the fire. Did my father hire you?"
Julian’s eyes flicked up, wide with an agonizing mixture of grief and revelation. "Five years ago... an anonymous broker commissioned me to design an offshore hull. The deposit was wired through a trust in Marseille. It was enough money to save the yard. Caleb was the one handling the contracts, the communications. Two weeks later, the yard burned to the ground. Caleb... Caleb told me to take the emergency skiff and meet him down the coast. But when the blast went off..."
He dropped his head into his hands, his broad shoulders heaving. "God help me. I thought he died because of my debts. I thought Richard Harrington torched the yard to clear the waterfront for real estate development."
"And Richard thought so too," I murmured, the terrifying pieces falling into place. "Richard thought he was striking at Julian Reed, a stubborn boatbuilder in Maine. But Richard was doing my father’s dirty work without even knowing it. My father was the target. Caleb must have found out, faked his death, and vanished into my grandfather’s old network in France."
Julian slowly lifted his head, his eyes burning with an intense, raw fire I had never seen before. "If Caleb Ross is alive, he’s been living in the shadows for five years thinking I left him behind."
"Or waiting for us," I said, pointing to the second brass key resting inside the velvet-lined lid of the chest, right beside the yellowed deeds of the Vance & Frères shipyard.
Julian stared at the key, then reached out, his calloused fingertips brushing against mine. The doubt that had flickered between us for a heartbeat vanished, replaced by an iron resolve forged in shared survival.
May you like
"Cast off the stern lines, Emily," Julian said, his voice steadying into steel. "We aren't cruising south to the Bahamas anymore. We’re crossing the Atlantic."
***
