The Billionaire Who Killed Our Son Now Begs Me To Save His Daughter Chapter 08

The Billionaire Who Killed Our Son Now Begs Me To Save His Daughter Chapter 08

Word spread fast.

Three hours later, the industry chat groups exploded. Chase showed me his phone. Grant had posted the bounty everywhere he could.

One hundred million dollars.

Bring her up alive. One hundred million.

“He’s insane,” Chase said, scrolling.

“A hundred million. Who wouldn’t jump at that? But at that depth…”

“Someone will go.”

Sure enough.

Within two hours, three teams took the job.

One was a commercial dive company from the Gulf. One was a private rescue crew made up of former military divers. And a solo operator. A retired deep-sea welder from somewhere overseas.

I leaned back in my chair. Chase read the updates out loud.

“First team’s already on site. They brought three rigs and a semi-sub mother ship.”

“What’s their max depth?”

“The specs say twenty-six hundred feet.”

“That’s not enough. The pressure at thirty-three hundred feet will crush their docking chamber like a soda can.”

Chase glanced at me. He didn’t say anything.

His phone buzzed again.

“Second team. The former military guys. They say they’ve got a modified diving bell. Been down to thirty-three hundred feet before.”

“Thirty-three hundred isn’t enough. The undertow currents in this place are brutal. They’re not coming back from that. What about the third one? The solo guy?”

“He says he’s got a homemade hard-shell dive suit. Claims he’s been to thirty-nine hundred feet.”

I tapped my fingers on the table. Didn’t say anything.

This wasn’t a pissing contest. People’s lives were on the line.

Chase went quiet.

“Syl…”

“If they’re that stubborn, they’re as good as dead.”

I closed my eyes.

“They’re dead men walking.”

Chase put his phone down.

“Syl, aren’t you going to warn them?”

“Who’s gonna listen? There’s a hundred million up for grabs. No one’s going to listen to me.”

“So you’re just going to sit back and watch them throw their lives away?”

I didn’t answer.

Messages kept popping up on the screen.

People in the group were hyped about the bounty. Some asked for details. Some flexed their equipment specs. Some roasted each other for throwing their lives away.

“Syl, maybe you should say something in the group?”

I thought about it. Then I took the phone and posted a message in the industry chat:

“The target area has multiple undertow currents at depth. Operating below thirty-three hundred feet is extremely high risk. And there’s a storm moving in. Recovery may not be possible. Any team without experience below thirty-three hundred feet should stand down.”

The message went out. The chat went quiet for maybe fifteen seconds.

Then the replies exploded.

“Is Syl actually telling the truth? I didn’t see anything about that in the briefing.”

“Didn’t she turn down the job? Now she’s out here doom-posting. Trying to jack up her price?”

“A hundred million, man. If Syl wants to scare people off, fine by me. Less competition.”

“Exactly. She’s not going. We are. If you’re scared of dying, get out of the game.”

I put the phone down.

Chase stood there reading the replies. He couldn’t even find the words.

“Syl…”

“I said what I had to say.”

I stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, the sky was still dark. The ocean stretched out forever, black and endless.

“They won’t listen,” I said. “That’s on them.”

Chase came over and stood next to me. He was quiet for a long time.

“Syl,” he finally said. “Do you hate his guts? Grant?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

I looked out at that dark water.

My son was down there somewhere. Thirty-six hundred feet down.

Sleeping in a cold metal coffin for ten years.

“Enough that I don’t want to save his daughter,” I said. “But not enough to watch other people go down with him.”

Chase nodded.

“That’s enough.”

He paused.

“Syl. You’ve done everything you could.”