“I know,” Carl answered.
“But every new piece of proof also protects you more. Look what you’ve done. Now you have a confirmed return ticket paid with your own card, and we have proof that Michael never intended to buy one.”
My phone buzzed.
A text from Michael. Good morning, Dad. How did you sleep?
Did you rest well in your cabin?
“He’s checking if you’re still where he thinks you are,” Carl said, glancing at the screen. “He probably expected you to answer from your room.”
I decided to test something. Good morning, son, I typed.
I slept very well. I’m on the deck now, getting some sun. The ship is wonderful.
His reply came almost instantly.
That’s good, Dad. Enjoy yourself. Have you explored the whole ship yet?
Another strange question.
Not yet, I wrote. It’s very big. Yesterday, I visited the restaurants and the casino.
Today, I want to see the pool and maybe the spa.
Perfect, Dad, he wrote. Just be careful near the railings. Sometimes people get dizzy with the movement and can lose their balance.
Carl’s face went pale.
“Robert,” he said slowly, “he just suggested how he expects you to die—an ‘accident’ by the railings.”
“I know,” I said, feeling a chill even under the warm sun. “He’s planting the story now, so it’ll sound believable later.”
Don’t worry, son, I answered. I’m always careful.
I stay away from the edges.
That’s what I hope, Dad, he replied. I love you very much and want you to come back safe and sound.
The hypocrisy in his words almost made me laugh—I want you to come back safe and sound, from the man who’d bought me a one-way ticket and hired someone to finish the job. The rest of the day, Carl and I refined our plan.
We needed more evidence, more recorded conversations, more pieces of the puzzle fitting together. We also had to figure out if there really was someone on board working with Michael—and if so, who. That afternoon, we went to the pool deck.
The place was buzzing with life—American families in swim trunks, kids splashing, music playing from overhead speakers, the smell of sunscreen and grilled burgers drifting through the air. As we sat on lounge chairs, talking quietly, I noticed him. A man in his forties stood at the pool bar, wearing a long-sleeve green shirt and pants instead of swimwear, which already looked out of place under the tropical sun.
Every time I looked in his direction, he turned his face away, pretending to watch something else. But his eyes always drifted back. To me.
“Carl,” I whispered. “The man at the bar in the green shirt. Do you see him watching us?”
Carl turned his head casually, his movements natural.
“Yes,” he murmured. “You’re not imagining it. He’s watching you, not me.”
“What do we do?” I asked.
“Let’s test something,” he answered. “Get up and walk toward the elevator. I’ll stay here and watch.
If he follows you, we have our answer.”
I did exactly that. I stood, gathered my things, and walked toward the elevator as if I were just tired and heading for a nap. When the doors opened and I stepped inside, I glanced back.
The man in the green shirt had left the bar and was walking in my direction. My heart raced as the elevator doors closed. I pressed the button for Deck 12, where Carl’s cabin was.
For a moment, I felt safe, surrounded by steel and machinery instead of open water. Fifteen minutes later, Carl came into the cabin, his expression tense. “You were right,” he said.
“He followed you to the elevator. When he saw you went up, he took the next one. No doubt about it now, Robert.
Someone here is watching you for Michael.”
“What do we do?” I asked. “If he already knows who I am, I’m a target.”
“We’re going to be smarter,” Carl said. “We won’t hide from him.
We’ll make him show his hand. Tomorrow we’ll set up a little performance in a public place—with cameras and people all around. We’ll make him feel safe enough to approach you, and then we’ll let him talk.”
That night, to reduce risk, we had dinner in Carl’s cabin instead of the restaurants.
We ordered room service and ate with the sound of the ocean outside the balcony door. My phone rang again. Clare.
“Hi, Robert,” she said, her voice bright and sugary. “How are you? It’s Clare.
How’s the cruise?”
It was the first time in months she’d called me directly. “What a surprise, Clare,” I said calmly. “The cruise is beautiful.
Thank you again for the gift.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said. “Michael told me you two talked yesterday and that you’re very happy. That gives us a lot of peace.”
Carl turned on his recorder again.
“Yes, I’m having a good time,” I said. “Although I do have a question, Clare. Yesterday, I went to the cruise office and they told me I don’t have a return ticket.
Do you know anything about that?”
There was a long silence. “Oh… Robert, how strange,” she said finally. “Michael handled all the details.
Maybe there was an error in the system. But don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.”
“I already did,” I answered. “I bought my own return ticket to be safe.”
Another pause.
“You… already bought your ticket home?” she repeated. “You didn’t need to do that, Robert. We were going to take care of everything.”
“I just got nervous thinking I might end up stranded in Miami,” I said lightly.
“You know how it is at my age. I like to have things clear.”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “I completely understand.
Well, Robert, I’ll let you continue enjoying the trip. We’ll see you when you get back.”
“Clare, before you go,” I said, “can I ask you one more thing?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you decide to give me this trip now?” I asked. “Michael told me you’d talked about me, but he didn’t explain what made you both decide to send me away.”
“Well,” she said, and I could hear the strain under her tone, “lately we’ve seen you very tired, very stressed.
We thought you needed extended rest.”
“Extended rest,” I repeated. “Yes. You know—some time away from everything.
Sometimes we all need to disconnect completely from daily life.”
The same line Michael had used, word for word. It sounded rehearsed. “I understand,” I said.
“Well, thank you for worrying about me.”
“You’re welcome, Robert,” she replied. “Take care and enjoy every moment.”
When I hung up, Carl shook his head. “That conversation,” he said, “tells us everything we needed to know.
Clare is just as involved as Michael. The way her voice changed when you mentioned buying your own ticket… it’s like you ruined something.”
On the third day of the cruise, Carl and I decided it was time to confront the man in the colored shirts—carefully and on our terms. After breakfast, we walked down to the casino.
It was the perfect place: busy, full of cameras, staff all around, noise to cover our voices. “Here’s the plan,” Carl explained as we walked. “I’ll sit at a poker table near the entrance.
You’ll sit at a slot machine, alone, and act like you’ve been drinking a little too much. If that man is watching you, he’ll see you as vulnerable, an easy target. People like him can’t resist that.”
I sat at a machine, fed in a few bills, and started pushing buttons.
I pretended to sway a little on the stool, muttered to myself, and laughed too loudly at nothing in particular. I drank orange juice from a glass and held it like it might be a mimosa. It didn’t take long.
After about twenty minutes, I saw him walking toward me. The same man, this time in a yellow shirt instead of green, but the same sharp eyes and practiced smile. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, sliding into the seat at the machine next to mine.
“Are you okay? You look a little tired.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, slurring just enough to be believable. “I think I had too many mimosas at breakfast.
These vacations are dangerous.”
He smiled, his eyes scanning me up and down, calculating. “Is this your first time on a cruise?” he asked. “Yes,” I said.
“My son gave me this trip. Says I need to relax. I think I might be overdoing it.”
I gave him exactly what he wanted to hear.
