Chapter 3 - The Unseen Lifeline
The freezing water was paralyzing. Every second felt like an hour as I struggled to keep my head above the swells, treading water with limbs that were rapidly going numb.
But Grant didn't know one crucial detail about my preparation for this afternoon.
I hadn’t come to the marina alone.
Knowing my husband was a cornered, desperate man facing federal embezzlement charges, I had hired an elite private maritime security firm. Their instructions were to follow the Emma Rose at a discreet distance, keeping out of sight but maintaining visual contact via drone.
Less than four minutes after the yacht sped away, a sleek, black interceptor boat cut through the waves toward me.
“We have her! Port side!” a voice bellowed over the roaring engines.
Strong, capable arms reached into the freezing water, grabbing the collar of my jacket and hauling me over the side of the boat. I collapsed onto the deck, shivering violently, coughing up seawater as a medic immediately wrapped me in heavy thermal blankets and pressed an oxygen mask to my face.
“My baby,” I sobbed, clutching my stomach. “Please.”
“Fetal heart rate is steady, ma'am. You did great,” the medic assured me, quickly checking my vitals. “We are getting you to a hospital immediately.”
As the boat sped back toward the mainland, the head of the security detail knelt beside me. “We got it all on the drone feed, Mrs. Bennett. But what about the cameras on the yacht? Will he destroy the footage?”
I shivered, a cold, dark smile touching my blue lips.
Grant had thought he was a genius mounting that phone on the aft deck to record my "hysteria." What the brilliant CEO hadn’t realized was that the Emma Rose was equipped with a central, cloud-synced Wi-Fi network that I had personally installed. Before I even stepped foot on the boat, I had accessed the network remotely.
I hadn't disabled his camera. I had simply mirrored the feed.
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Everything that phone recorded—the argument, the shove, and the horrifying minutes Grant spent watching me drown before driving away—had been instantly and permanently uploaded to my lead attorney’s secure server in downtown Los Angeles.
Grant had meticulously orchestrated his own murder trial.
