Chapter 37 - The Secret Deal Preston Made From His Prison Cell
Preston wanted to see me.
His attorney sent the request through Eleanor.
I almost refused.
Then I read the subject line.
CARTER FLEET MANAGEMENT AGREEMENT.
For seven years, Preston had treated me like a woman too ordinary to understand his business.
Now he was asking for a meeting because I understood too much.
I agreed to a supervised conversation.
At the federal detention facility, Preston entered the interview room wearing institutional clothing.
He looked thinner.
His hair had been cut short.
The expensive confidence that once defined him was gone.
But when he saw me, something familiar returned to his eyes.
Expectation.
He still believed he could bargain his way back into control.
"Amelia."
"Preston."
He sat opposite me.
Eleanor occupied the chair beside mine.
His defense attorney remained with him.
The interview proceeded under agreed conditions.
I didn't waste time.
"Why did you sign an authorization involving the Carter Maritime Reserve Fleet?"
Preston stared at me.
"You found that?"
"Answer."
He looked toward his lawyer.
The attorney nodded cautiously.
"I signed a management consent," Preston said.
"On whose behalf?"
"The Hale-related licensing interest."
"That isn't the same as owning the fleet."
"I know."
"Then why did you authorize a transfer?"
He swallowed.
"Arthur told me Helena needed the paperwork."
"Why?"
"To protect the reserve from the federal investigation."
I almost laughed.
"By moving it?"
"She said the old structure was exposed."
"Exposed to what?"
Preston looked down.
"An accounting."
There it was.
He feared the same thing Arthur had feared.
Books being opened.
Money being followed.
People having to explain where it went.
"Did Helena pay you?"
"No."
"Did she promise anything?"
He hesitated.
"She agreed to recognize the Hale licensing agreements until the litigation ended."
"And what would that accomplish?"
"It would keep certain royalties outside the receivership."
Eleanor wrote something.
I studied Preston.
"You were already under federal scrutiny when you signed it."
"I was trying to save what was left."
"Of your money?"
He looked up.
"Of the company."
I shook my head.
"That company was built on diverted payments and stolen licensing rights."
"Not all of it."
For the first time, he sounded defensive rather than arrogant.
"There were legitimate contracts, Amelia. Real workers. Real suppliers."
"Then those legitimate interests deserve an honest accounting."
He closed his eyes.
"You always make everything sound simple."
"No. I make you answer specific questions."
Silence.
Then I placed a copy of the reserve-payment schedule on the table.
"Do you recognize these names?"
He looked at the list.
"No."
"These were sailors and their families. Money was allocated to them. Some families were later told nothing remained."
Preston's face changed.
"I didn't know that."
"Maybe."
"Amelia, I swear."
I held his gaze.
"You lied about my career. My mother. Our marriage. Forged documents. Hidden profits. Why should your promises mean anything now?"
He looked away.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said quietly, "Because I have nothing left to gain by lying about this."
I leaned forward.
"That's not true."
He looked back.
"You want cooperation credit. You want better treatment in your criminal proceedings. You want someone to believe you finally regret what you did."
His face crumpled.
I didn't stop.
"If you want to help, provide records. Not tears."
Preston nodded slowly.
Then he spoke.
"Helena met with my father before the divorce."
"When?"
"About a month before I filed."
"Where?"
"At the old Richmond maritime office."
"Was Martin Voss there?"
"Yes."
"What did they discuss?"
Preston looked toward his attorney.
Then back at me.
"Project Meridian."
My pulse quickened.
"And?"
"The fleet."
"Specifically?"
His voice dropped.
"Arthur said the original Carter vessels contained records that couldn't be allowed into federal discovery."
I felt the room grow cold.
"What records?"
"He wouldn't tell me."
"Did Helena know?"
Preston nodded.
"She said the ships were supposed to have been cleared years ago."
"Cleared of what?"
"I don't know."
I studied him.
For once, his uncertainty seemed genuine.
"Which ship?" I asked.
Preston hesitated.
Then he whispered, "The Carter Dawn."
I stared at him.
The vessel listed as scrapped.
The ship whose historical registry had suddenly become impossible to reconcile.
"Why would they care about a scrapped ship?"
Preston shook his head.
"That's what I asked."
"What did Arthur say?"
Preston looked directly into my eyes.
"He said the ship was never supposed to be found."
I sat completely still.
Then Preston added one final detail.
"Helena told him the hull had been moved out of American waters years ago."
"To where?"
"She mentioned a private facility overseas."
"What facility?"
He looked frightened.
"That part I don't remember."
I stood.
Our meeting was finished.
As Eleanor gathered the documents, Preston called my name.
I turned.
"Amelia, I never knew what they were hiding when I married you."
I looked at him.
"You knew enough to keep lying."
Then I walked away.
Outside the detention facility, my phone chimed.
Maya had found the Carter Dawn's historical identification number in a commercial maintenance database.
The vessel had not been scrapped.
Its original identity had been retired from the registry.
But its engine serial numbers were still appearing in service records.
The most recent entry was three months old.
May you like
The location was Norfolk.
The ship had been hidden practically in my backyard.
