Page 230 of Hidden Depths

“Sometimes the safest harbor is the one only your family remembers.”

— James Sinclair

Thomas lifted the lid of the steel box.

The hinges groaned as though they hadn't moved in years.

Inside were several leather journals, their covers faded and cracked with age. Beneath them lay nautical charts, envelopes sealed in plastic, and stacks of photographs bound together with twine.

Everything had been carefully protected from the salt air.

Everything had been waiting for us.

I reached toward the top journal, but Thomas placed his hand over it.

“Before you read any of this, there’s something you need to understand.”

I looked into his weathered face.

“What?”

“Your grandfather didn’t hide this because he was afraid for himself.” Thomas glanced at Calle, Willow, and Ivy. “James hid it because he was afraid for all of you.”

My chest tightened.

Grandpa had spent his entire life protecting our family.

Apparently, he’d continued doing it even after he was gone.

“What did he find?” Ben asked.

Thomas looked toward the open boathouse doors, checking the quiet cove beyond them.

“Proof of a criminal operation that has been using luxury vessels along the Gulf for decades.”

Ivy moved closer.

“What kind of operation?”

“Smuggling at first. Stolen antiquities, weapons, anything wealthy men were willing to pay to move without questions.” Thomas’s mouth tightened. “Then it became something worse.”

Calle’s voice dropped.

“People?”

Thomas nodded.

“Men and women who disappeared between ports. Witnesses who were never seen again. Captains who discovered too much and died in accidents, no one bothered to investigate.”

I thought about the elegant Mariner’s Crown.

The polished decks.

The expensive parties.

The silver-haired captain standing above it all as if the sea belonged to him.

“How long did Grandpa know?” I asked.