CHAPTER 2: A Boy Dressed Like an Heir

Leo had asked to wear sneakers with his tuxedo.
Maren had allowed it because his father would have laughed, because the boy hated patent leather, and because grief had already taken enough small comforts from him. Declan Cross had been gone eight months, officially lost to a private plane failure over fog, unofficially turned into a portrait and a trust before his widow finished mourning.
The Cross family loved Leo in public.
They kissed his hair for cameras. They placed him at head tables. They called him the future of Cross Maritime whenever investors leaned close enough to hear. But in private, they spoke about him the way bankers spoke about collateral.
Vivienne wanted him photographed between Gideon and herself before midnight. Gideon wanted signatures before the yacht reached the harbor channel. Their attorney wanted Maren calm enough to appear cooperative and frightened enough not to read page four.
Maren had read page four twice.
Temporary guardianship. Emergency trustee authority. Medical discretion regarding maternal instability.
The words were neat, bloodless, and vicious.
Leo lifted his face from her shoulder. “Mom, can we go home?”
Maren looked at the black water beyond the rail.
“Soon,” she said, though the boat had never felt farther from land.