On my honeymoon cruise, I went below deck for seasick pills and heard my husband rehearsing how he'd push me overboard.

They came in with no lights.

I saw them first — two rigid inflatables cutting through the swells from the northeast, running dark, moving fast. Navarro had them on radar for four minutes before that and hadn't said anything. I understood why. He didn't want me counting seconds.

They came alongside at twelve seventeen. Eight officers, four off each boat, an Interpol-affiliated maritime unit — exactly what Navarro had asked for. They were on deck before Bennett, Roland, and Marguerite knew the boats had even reached us.

I heard it from the bridge. Shouting — Roland first, then Marguerite's sharp cry, then Bennett. Bennett's was the worst, because it was controlled. Even then. Even caught.

Navarro unlocked the bridge door. One officer stepped in — a woman, forties, short dark hair, a jacket with no markings. She looked at me.

"Miss Wexford?"

"Yes."

"Are you injured?"

"Drugged. Three days. I'm functional."

She nodded. "We'll want a medical assessment before you give any statement. Is that acceptable?"

"After," I said. "I want to see them first."

She studied me a moment. Then she stepped aside.

They had the three of them on the main deck, seated apart. Bennett's hands were behind his back. Roland sat very still — the way powerful men go still when they realize the power has quit working. Marguerite was crying. Not the pleased little laugh from the lower deck. Not the morning-kiss warmth. Something smaller and uglier than either.

Bennett watched me come down the stairs. His face tried to rebuild itself — the concern, the worry, the loving husband — and then it just stopped. He looked at me with none of it left.

"You recorded me," he said.

"Yes."

"The intercom."

"And the satellite call. The photos. The pills. The document." I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "All of it, Bennett."

He was quiet a second. Then: "Your father put Navarro up to this."

"My father suspected. Navarro watched. I survived." I looked at him steadily. "Those are three different things."

"Camille." He leaned forward a little, the cuffs pulling tight. "I can give you names. People above me in this. People your father's been trying to get to for years — the accounts, the offshore structure, all of it. I hand that over, maybe this looks different for me."

"Tell the officers," I said. "I'm sure they'll find it useful."

Something in his face shifted. Not defeat — Bennett didn't do defeat cleanly. More like a door swinging shut. He sat back. "You'll regret this," he said. Quiet. Almost friendly.

"No," I said. "I really won't."

Marguerite made a sound from across the deck — half sob, half something aimed at me. "We treated you like family. We took you in—"

"You kept me in Milan for a week so Bennett could forge my signature," I said. "Don't."

Her mouth closed.

Roland hadn't said a word. He was staring at a fixed point past my shoulder, and I realized he was doing math — lawyers, charges, asset freezes, the Liechtenstein accounts Bennett had mentioned. Working out what could be salvaged. His face said: not much.

The lead officer touched my arm. "Miss Wexford. The medical assessment."

"One more minute." I turned back to Bennett. "The men in the mountains. The ones waiting for my parents."

His jaw tightened.

"We need names," I said. "Now. Before they move."

"I already gave them up," he said flatly. "The second your officer put a hand on my shoulder, I gave them up. I'm not going to prison for people who couldn't even be bothered to show up in person."

I looked at the lead officer. She gave a small nod. Already handled.

I let out a breath I'd been holding since the lower deck.

The officer walked me toward the interior. As I passed Bennett, he said one more thing — low, just for me.

"I did love you. In the beginning. Before the plan."