“You an electrician?”
“No.”
“Then—”
Serena said, “Let him look.”
Everyone turned.
Marcus opened the panel.
Thirty seconds.
Loose neutral.
Damaged relay.
Bad connection likely made worse when temporary lighting load was added.
He asked for insulated screwdriver.
The technician hesitated.
Marcus raised eyebrow.
Four minutes later, the lights came on.
Sound console rebooted.
Monitors lit.
Serena stared.
The technician stared harder.
“Where did you learn that?”
Marcus closed panel.
“I read.”
“That isn’t reading.”
Marcus picked up his rag.
“Depends what you read.”
He returned to his bench.
Serena watched him sit.
Laptop open.
Financial tables visible for a few seconds.
Not repair invoices.
Pivot tables.
Cash-flow modeling.
She stepped closer.
“What exactly do you do?”
Marcus did not look up.
“Fix boats.”
“Only boats?”
“Today.”
“Who are you?”
He finally looked at her.
“Marcus.”
“I know your name.”
“Then question answered.”
Serena stared.
He smiled slightly.
She should have been annoyed.
Instead she was intrigued.
That evening she searched his name.
Almost nothing.
No LinkedIn.
No corporate biography.
No social media.
No old local news.
It was difficult to disappear online accidentally.
Especially for someone who handled financial models like that.
She closed the laptop at midnight.
Then opened it again.
Meanwhile Grant Mercer summoned Joanna Price into his office.
Joanna was a twenty-nine-year-old financial analyst at Ashford Harbor.
Smart enough to be useful.
Quiet enough that Grant had underestimated her.
She had been reconciling Compass Fund project expenses when she noticed three transfers routed through companies with nearly identical billing addresses.
Meridian Construction.
Coastal Strategic Services.
Harbor Development Partners.
Different entities.
Similar banks.
Suspicious timing.
Joanna asked Grant’s deputy for underlying invoices.
An hour later Grant called her upstairs.
He remained standing.
“I hear you’ve been reviewing Compass accounts.”
Joanna nodded.
“Quarterly reconciliation.”
“That account sits above your clearance.”
“The project ledger is in my assignment.”
“Not anymore.”
She watched him.
“Why?”
Grant smiled.
“Because I’m reallocating workload.”
Joanna understood the warning immediately.
He continued:
“Foundation is entering sensitive donor period.”
“Curiosity can create unnecessary confusion.”
Joanna nodded.
Then left.
She did not stop being curious.
Neither did Marcus.
Three nights later, he drove to one of the supposed construction locations.
Forty minutes outside Savannah.
The financial report described a thirty-two-bed emergency shelter “forty percent complete.”
Marcus arrived at an overgrown lot behind an abandoned feed store.
No building.
No foundation.
No permit sign.
Nothing.
He photographed coordinates.
Next site.
Empty warehouse.
Third.