Francisco frowned. “Weird,” he muttered.
It had happened before. Network issues with the application weren’t as rare as the people selling it claimed they were. But Francisco had seen other causes too. A faulty antenna, a skipper disabling the system by mistake, or a failure of the electrical system on a yacht. In theory, the system would reset itself automatically. Still, Francisco was the kind of man who liked to stay ahead of things. If something had gone wrong,he wanted to be the guy who’d already dealt with it when the others walked in.
He glanced at his watch. 9:35. His colleagues would be here shortly.
He pulled up theVeloce’s charter contract from the file cabinet and found the skipper’s number. He remembered the man. A former US Navy officer named Justin Burton. Francisco had gone out of his way to make a good impression when the man had come to pick up the yacht last week.
“If there’s anything, anything at all, just call me, day or night,” Francisco had said, handing over his business card like it was a backstage pass to a Taylor Swift concert.
He dialed Burton’s number, but it went directly to voicemail.
Probably out of range.
Then, a new notification pinged on his screen.
A lead!
He opened it. Another broker was in town with a client and had stumbled on his boosted Instagram post about the Absolute Navetta 52 he had listed not even forty-eight hours ago. She wanted to know if it was still available.
Francisco grinned. That post had cost him sixty euros to promote. If that post was all it took to sell the yacht, it would be the best sixty euros he’d ever spent. He typed a crisp but professional reply to let her know the yacht was indeed available and that it was in immaculate, show-ready condition. And that he’d be delighted to arrange a visit.
Two minutes later, the broker responded via text.
She had a tour at 12:00, but she was free now.
He typed his reply.
Perfect. I’ll meet you at the dock in fifteen minutes. Sending pin.
He checked the asking price of the Absolute Navetta 52 again.1.35 million euros.Ten percent commission. Half for the seller’s side, whichleft 67,500 euros for his brokerage. Out of that, Francisco would net 20,000 euros.
He jumped from his seat, grabbed his sunglasses, and practically bounced out of the office. Maybe the Maserati in Monaco wasn’t so far away after all.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Valencia, Spain
Mia Hernandez stood just outside the gated pier entrance that led to Dock H, where the Absolute Navetta 52 was berthed. The gate was secured by a small electronic keypad and a simple magnetic lock. Over eight hundred moorings were nestled between the commercial port and the seafront promenade, and even on a weekday, the marina buzzed with activity. On Dock G, Mia could see charter guests rolling suitcases toward a catamaran. On Dock I, crew members were busy hosing down the decks of several yachts.
Mia wore slim white pants paired with a green blouse. Around her waist was a knockoff Louis Vuitton fanny pack. A white scarf was draped loosely around her neck, which she thought looked very glamorous with her pair of oversize sunglasses. She hoped that she looked like a successful yacht broker, the kind who had nothing to prove because the brokerage firm and the clients she represented guaranteed her access and respect.
Mia glanced at her phone, checking the time. By now, Verena was where she was supposed to be, nursing a latte two hundred meters from the broker’s office, waiting for the text that would launch the next phase of the operation.
From where Mia stood, she could see the Navetta 52. It was docked halfway down the pier, its freshly polished structure gleaming under thesun. She had studied every inch of its layout on the flight over and knew it as if she was the boat’s owner.
She spotted Francisco Morientes a minute later. He was in his mid-twenties, medium height but athletic, with the kind of tan that came from year-round, by-the-sea living. His white pants and pink dress shirt looked to be freshly pressed, though the baby blue jacket slung over his shoulders was a touch much for Mia’s taste. Still, she appreciated his confidence. This was his stage after all.
As he neared her, a huge, sincere smile appeared on his lips. “Miss Torres?”
Mia returned it, dialing up the charm. “Pleasure to meet you, Francisco. I really appreciate you making time for this on such short notice. I know last-minute visits aren’t the easiest to manage.”
He waved the concern away. “Not at all. I’m happy to show it, and proud to do so. The yacht’s basically still in showroom condition,” he said.
“Then I can’t wait to see it. My client’s eager to move fast if it fits his needs.”
Though she didn’t think it would be possible, Francisco’s smile widened. She could practically see him calculating his commission. He pulled out a small fob and tapped it against the gate panel. The lock disengaged with a soft beep, and she followed him through the gate and onto the dock. She noted how he instinctively walked to the right, leaving her the side with the view of the boat.
“This way,” he said. “It’s the best specced Absolute Navetta 52 on the market right now. It’s only been on the market for a few days, but I’ve already had serious interest.”
