He presses a kiss to my temple. “Ash… we should talk. Just in case?—”
But he doesn't get any farther.
“Mom! Dad! Are you ready yet?” Max’s voice is followed by the sounds of little fists knocking on the door. Then, my mom’s voice, muffled, “Maybe we should have called first.”
And then my alarm goes off—loud and insistent.
“When we get home?”
We’re in silent agreement, because, yeah. This is not the time for a serious talk.
Beckett pulls on sweats while I silence my phone and head to the door. The cabin fills almost instantly—our boys tumble in, followed by Mom and Babs, everyone talking at once about breakfast, disembarkation, and last-minute packing.
It’s a whirlwind after that. We do a final sweep of the cabin, tossing stray socks and chargers into bags, double-checking everywhere, zipping up suitcases. Somehow, amid the chaos, it all gets done.
When we step into the hallway, Beckett laces our fingers, and together we make our way to the buffet for one last breakfast.
We sit together—me, Beckett, the boys, Mom, Babs. Luna and Noah show up with coffee in hand. Then Tay. Simon, everyone…
There’s laughter. Jokes. Crumbs. Chaos.
And somehow, I’m calm in the middle of it.
This is my family.
This is my place. And I know that neither Beckett nor I are pretending.
The ship begins calling groups to disembark. People hug. There’s a flurry of last-minute photos. One by one, we say goodbye to the guests who’ve become part of this strange, beautiful blur of a week.
Finally, our group is called.
Beckett holds Blakey’s hand. Max, with his backpack firmly in place, walks right in front of me. We’re tired, sun-kissed, t-shirts and shorts a little wrinkled. But we’re whole. We’re together.
Just as we step away from security, I see them.
Four men in dark suits. Two more in DHS uniforms. They move fast, purposefully, their eyes sweeping the crowd—and locking on us.
They march right up to Beckett. My heart skips.
“Mr. Beckett Carrington?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t flinch. He leans down though, putting his hands on Blakey’s shoulders. “Go with your mom, Buddy.”
I instinctively pull both boys close to me.
“Mr. Carrington, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit wire fraud, obstruction of justice, and willful misrepresentation of federal documents,” the agent says, stepping forward.
He flashes a badge. And I just make out the words:Federal Bureau— before he snaps it shut.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you.”
Another agent steps in, opening a black folder and flipping through it. “This is in connection with an ongoing federal investigation into securities fraud and racketeering activity involving Midtown Financial and its subsidiaries.”
Beckett’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue.
People are staring, strangers pointing their phones at us. The rest of our group is hovering nearby, looking horrified. Shocked.
This… This can’t be happening!
