The railing here was lower, designed for fishing, barely hip-height.

“Right here, Dad,” Greg said, positioning me near the edge. “The view is clearer here.”

I gripped the railing with my “trembling” hands, staring out at the white wake churning behind the boat. The engines were a dull roar, loud enough to mask a shout, or a splash.

“It’s peaceful,” I said, keeping my back to him.

“It is,” Greg replied. His voice was closer now. “It’s a release, isn’t it? To just… let go.”

I heard the shift in his stance. The subtle creak of his leather deck shoes twisting on the wood as he planted his feet. He was winding up. I could feel his intention like a physical pressure on my back. He wasn’t going to hesitate. He was desperate. The creditors were probably calling him daily now. My death, a tragic accident at sea, would make Elena the sole heiress, and him the grieving, controlling husband.