“If they vote to approve this transfer, the Maribel is gone forever.”

“How do we prove it’s a forgery in twenty minutes?” I asked.

“We don’t,” Diane said.

She looked out the window at the dark harbor coming into view.

“We have to stop the vote from happening at all.”

The town car came to a stop at the entrance to the marina.

The masts of the yachts swayed violently in the storm.

At the end of the dock, the lights of Grant’s luxury yacht, *The Maribel*, shone through the rain.

I stepped out of the car, the cold wind whipping my hair across my face.

I held the wet notary ledger tight against my chest.

This was it.

The final stand for the empire I had built.

We walked down the wooden dock, the planks slick beneath our feet.

As we reached the gangway, the yacht’s engines began to rumble.

The boat was preparing to leave the slip.

“Wait!” I shouted over the wind.

A crew member stood at the railing, looking down at us.

“We’re casting off, ma’am,” he called back.