Chapter 6 - The Man Who Knew Too Much
Preston had once told me that people who understood money could make themselves invisible.
He'd said it during a dinner party while explaining how sophisticated investors protected their assets.
"Everybody looks at the bank account," he'd told our guests. "The smart people look at the structure behind it."
At the time, I'd thought he was being arrogant.
Now I realized he'd been describing his own escape plan.
The morning after he disappeared, I sat at a small table in a protected temporary residence with Hannah's laptop in front of me.
Ivy was asleep in the next room.
For the first time in days, she was in a bed that didn't belong to a hospital.
There were no monitors.
No nurses entering every hour.
No television showing her father's face.
Just a quiet house, a locked door, and the sound of rain against the windows.
Detective Kline had arranged for someone to stay nearby.
Our location was restricted to people involved in our protection.
I was grateful.
But I couldn't relax.
Preston was still free.
And as long as he was free, I knew he would be looking for a way to regain control.
Hannah placed a cup of coffee beside me.
"You don't have to do this."
I opened a spreadsheet.
"Yes, I do."
"The investigators have accountants."
"I know."
"They can follow the money."
I looked at her.
"But they don't know how Preston thinks."
For years, I'd watched him move assets between companies.
I'd listened to his complaints about lenders.
I'd heard the names he mentioned during late-night phone calls.
And I'd seen him become increasingly interested in obscure ownership structures.
I knew the difference between the companies he discussed to impress people and the ones he mentioned only when he believed nobody was listening.
Northstar Maritime belonged to the second category.
I opened a copy of the public corporate registration.
Northstar was organized in Delaware.
Its registered agent was a large commercial service company.
Its managers were listed through another entity.
On paper, there was no obvious connection to Preston.
But the yacht's purchase records told a different story.
The funds had originated from Shaw Coastal Development.
And the person who approved the transfer was Preston.
I began tracing every available reference to Northstar in the files I'd copied.
Fuel purchases.
Marine insurance.
Storage fees.
Docking arrangements.
Most of the expenses were ordinary.
Then I found something unusual.
A monthly payment of $7,500 to a company called Atlantic Risk Strategies.
I recognized the address.
It belonged to Victor Sloane's private investigation business.
I sat back.
"Hannah."
She came over.
"What?"
I showed her the payment.
"Victor has been getting money from Northstar for six months."
"Six months?"
"Yes."
"What was he doing?"
I scrolled.
"There's no description beyond security consulting."
Then I noticed a second payment.
$18,000.
Three days before the anniversary trip.
A third payment appeared beneath it.
$42,000.
Approved the night before Preston disappeared.
Hannah frowned.
"That looks like a bonus."
"Or an emergency payment."
I selected the transaction reference.
The transfer went to another business account.
A company called Harbor Point Services.
Its mailing address was in Rockland, Maine.
I searched the registration.
Harbor Point owned several small storage facilities and a warehouse near the waterfront.
But the most interesting thing was its recent acquisition of a private dock lease.
A lease beginning Friday.
The day Preston disappeared.
I looked at Hannah.
"He's going somewhere by water."
She took out her phone.
"Call Kline."
Within an hour, the information was with investigators.
They could verify the payment trail through warrants and banking records rather than relying solely on my copied files.
That distinction mattered.
I was no longer simply trying to prove my husband had hurt us.
I wanted to help build a case his attorneys couldn't dismantle with technical objections.
But as I worked, another question kept troubling me.
Why had Sloane sent messages to Hannah?
If he was helping Preston, why warn us that someone else had been aboard the yacht?
Was he trying to frighten me?
Was he trying to find the evidence?
Or was he beginning to doubt Preston himself?
The answer arrived that afternoon.
Detective Kline called.
"We've located the marine contractor who worked on the yacht Tuesday night."
I sat upright.
"What did he say?"
"His name is Luke Ferris. He was hired to inspect the stern safety equipment."
"By Preston?"
"Through Northstar Maritime."
My pulse quickened.
"And?"
"According to Ferris, Preston, Celeste, and Victor Sloane were aboard during the inspection."
I looked at Hannah.
"All three."
Kline continued.
"Ferris said Sloane asked detailed questions about whether the ladder alarm would remain in the system logs if someone canceled it."
I closed my eyes.
They hadn't merely planned to push us into the Atlantic.
They had practiced removing the evidence.
"Did he know what they were planning?"
"He says he didn't. We're evaluating that statement."
"What about Celeste?"
"He confirmed she was present."
I thought of her message.
You're sure about the girl too?
I gripped the phone.
"She knew."
"Her attorney has requested another meeting."
"Why?"
"Apparently she has concerns about her own safety."
I gave a bitter laugh.
"Now she's afraid of Preston?"
Kline was quiet.
"People involved in a conspiracy don't necessarily trust one another."
I stared at the window.
Rain streaked the glass.
"She helped him plan my daughter's death."
"We're aware of that."
"Then don't let her pretend she's innocent."
"We won't."
I ended the call.
Hannah watched me.
"What are you thinking?"
"That Preston is going to sacrifice Celeste if it keeps him out of prison."
Hannah nodded slowly.
"That would explain why she's suddenly talking."
I looked down at the transactions.
Preston had always believed every relationship was a negotiation.
He rewarded loyalty.
He punished disobedience.
And when someone became inconvenient, he discarded them.
He had done it to employees.
He had done it to business partners.
He had done it to me.
And when the time came, he would do it to Celeste.
That evening, Ivy came into the kitchen carrying the plastic sailboat from our anniversary cake.
She'd washed it.
The tiny blue sail was cracked, but she kept it in her pocket.
"Mommy?"
I closed the laptop.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
She climbed onto the chair beside me.
"Are we hiding?"
I took a breath.
"We're staying somewhere safe for a little while."
"Because of Daddy?"
"Yes."
She looked down.
"Is he going to find us?"
I wanted to promise he wouldn't.
But after everything that had happened, I knew better than to make promises I couldn't guarantee.
"People are helping us stay safe," I said. "And I'm going to keep doing everything I can to protect you."
She nodded.
Then she whispered, "I think Daddy doesn't love me."
I felt my heart crack.
I pulled her onto my lap.
"Oh, Ivy."
"He said he did."
"I know."
"He said I was his favorite girl."
"I know."
"Then why did he try to make me go under the water?"
I looked into her eyes.
There was no good answer.
No explanation that could make cruelty understandable.
So I told her the truth she needed most.
"Sometimes people say loving things but make terrible choices. What Daddy did was wrong. It wasn't because you were difficult or because you made a mistake."
She was quiet.
Then she asked, "Did he stop loving you?"
I swallowed.
"I don't know what he felt anymore."
"Do you still love him?"
That question surprised me.
I thought of our wedding.
The first apartment.
The day Ivy was born.
The years when Preston had made me feel chosen.
Then I thought of his laugh over the ocean.
"No," I whispered.
She studied my face.
"Not even a little?"
I kissed her forehead.
"I remember loving him. But remembering something isn't the same as wanting it back."
She considered that.
Then she put her arms around me.
"I still remember when he was nice."
"That's okay."
"Is it bad?"
"No, sweetheart."
I held her.
"You're allowed to remember the good things and still know what he did was wrong."
She began crying softly.
I didn't rush her.
For the first time, I understood that surviving the ocean had only been the beginning.
Preston had tried to take our lives.
But even after we escaped, he had left us with a thousand invisible wounds.
Ivy would have to learn that love wasn't supposed to frighten her.
I would have to learn the same thing.
The next morning, Celeste Wynn gave investigators a statement in the presence of her attorney.
I wasn't allowed to hear the interview.
But Detective Kline later told me enough to understand what had happened.
Celeste admitted that she and Preston had been having an affair for eighteen months.
She confirmed discussions about insurance policies and trust assets.
She acknowledged that Preston had described an "accident" during the anniversary trip.
But she insisted she'd believed he was exaggerating until she realized he intended to follow through.
Investigators confronted her with the messages discussing Ivy.
Celeste had no convincing explanation.
Then they showed her a copy of a document recovered from Preston's office.
It was a prepared statement.
Written in Celeste's voice.
According to the draft, Celeste had manipulated Preston into falsifying financial records, pressured him to take out policies, and threatened his family.
The statement portrayed Preston as a confused businessman whose unstable mistress had orchestrated the fraud.
Celeste read it.
Then she began to shake.
"He was going to blame me for everything."
Detective Kline asked who had prepared it.
Celeste whispered, "Preston."
"Did you know about it?"
"No."
"Did you know he intended to kill Meredith and Ivy?"
Celeste started crying.
Her attorney advised her not to answer without a formal cooperation agreement.
But Celeste had already said something important.
Preston had prepared a second story.
One in which Celeste was the villain and he was the victim.
He had planned to collect the money.
Start a new life.
And discard the woman who helped him commit the crime.
That wasn't remorse.
It was insurance against betrayal.
Later, through her attorney, Celeste provided investigators with another detail.
Preston had purchased a second vessel through an associate.
A thirty-two-foot powerboat stored at a private dock near Rockland.
It was supposed to be available only in an emergency.
An emergency like the police discovering his wife and daughter were alive.
But by the time officers searched the dock, the vessel was gone.
The mooring lines had been cut loose.
A storage locker stood open.
And a marina employee reported seeing a man matching Victor Sloane's description loading fuel containers into an SUV.
Preston had escaped again.
That afternoon, Hannah received a call from an unfamiliar number.
She answered on speaker while Detective Kline stood beside us.
A man's voice spoke.
"Ms. Brooks?"
"Who's calling?"
"Somebody who made a mistake."
Hannah looked at the detective.
"Who is this?"
"Victor Sloane."
My stomach tightened.
Kline silently indicated that Hannah should keep him talking.
Hannah took a breath.
"What do you want?"
"I need to know where Meredith Shaw is."
"No."
"Listen carefully. I don't have much time."
"Then speak to the police."
Sloane laughed bitterly.
"Your husband isn't the only one who knows how to destroy evidence, Mrs. Shaw."
I froze.
He knew I was listening.
Before I could respond, he continued.
"Preston has something that belongs to you."
I leaned toward the phone.
"What?"
A long silence.
Then Sloane said, "A recording."
My pulse quickened.
"Of what?"
"Your husband explaining exactly what he intended to do on the yacht."
I stared at Hannah.
"Why would he record that?"
"Because Preston likes keeping proof he can use against people."
"Where is it?"
Sloane exhaled.
"Not with me anymore."
"Then who has it?"
"Preston."
I gripped the edge of the table.
"What do you want?"
"Protection."
Kline stepped closer.
Hannah said, "If you have information about a crime, you can surrender yourself and provide it through your attorney."
Sloane's voice sharpened.
"You don't understand. Preston thinks I betrayed him."
"Did you?"
A bitter laugh.
"Not soon enough."
Then something sounded in the background.
A door.
Footsteps.
Sloane went silent.
"Victor?" Hannah asked.
A muffled voice shouted something.
Then Sloane spoke again.
His words were barely audible.
"Tell Meredith to look at the beneficiary list."
The call ended.
We stared at the phone.
I looked at Detective Kline.
"What beneficiary list?"
Kline was already calling an investigator to preserve the call information.
I turned back to my laptop.
The insurance policies.
The trust amendments.
The property holdings.
There were several beneficiary schedules.
But Sloane had said the beneficiary list.
Not a list.
The list.
I opened the files.
One by one.
Then I found it.
A spreadsheet attached to Northstar Maritime's restructuring folder.
At first glance, it appeared to be an ordinary payment schedule.
But one column was labeled CONTINGENT BENEFICIARY.
And beside the names Meredith Shaw and Ivy Shaw was a third name.
Celeste Wynn.
I stared at the screen.
Preston hadn't planned to leave the money to Celeste.
He had planned to use her as an intermediate beneficiary under a separate policy-linked arrangement.
If the transfer went through and she later died, the remaining assets would pass through a company he controlled.
I scrolled farther.
There was another document.
A proposed accident-insurance application.
For Celeste.
The amount was four million dollars.
The listed beneficiary was a Northstar affiliate.
I felt cold.
My husband hadn't planned to kill only his wife and daughter.
May you like
He was preparing to eliminate his mistress, too.
And the woman who had helped him plan our deaths had just discovered she might be next.
