I stepped down into the boat, checked the fuel line under the wooden bench, and set the key fob beside the starter cord.

The boat smelled of lake cedar and old engine oil.

The main house above the trees was quiet except for the catering delivery vans.

The catering staff had parked along the gravel turning circle near the garage and were unloading metal heating trays and boxes of crystal stemware for Victoria’s dinner party.

They didn’t know the bank had frozen the corporate credit line three hours earlier.

Brandon was inside, probably showing Christopher Pembroke glossy floor plans of a condo project built on underwater dirt.