The Billionaire Who Killed Our Son Now Begs Me To Save His Daughter Chapter 09

The Billionaire Who Killed Our Son Now Begs Me To Save His Daughter Chapter 09

The next morning, word came that the first team had gone dark.

The crew on their mother ship tried to haul back the cable. What came up was just two broken ends of fiber optic line.

When the news hit the yard, Chase cursed in the dispatch shack.

“God damn it. What a waste of life.”

I didn’t say anything.

At eight, the second update came in.

The former military team’s titanium diving bell got swept off course by an undertow at thirty-four hundred feet.

The last transmission was the team leader shouting, “Hull pressure abnormal… recover… recover now…” Then static.

Chase slammed his phone down on the table.

“Jesus. No one survives that.”

“What about the solo guy?”

“Nothing yet. He said he’d wait for a break in the currents before going down.”

By the afternoon, the solo diver’s final voice message came through the group chat.

Chase found someone to translate it.

“Pressure’s off the charts… frame deformation detected… aborting dive… repeat, aborting dive… ascending…”

Then a muffled crunch. Like something being crushed.

Then nothing.

Three teams. Wiped out.

No one even got close to the target crew compartment.

At two in the morning, Chase jumped out of his chair.

“Syl… look at this.”

He turned his phone screen toward me.

A real-time satellite image. Grant’s mother ship. It was heading straight for The Sinkhole.

“Is he going down himself?”

“He’s lost it,” Chase said, his voice flat.

“He’s not insane.”

I stared at the slow-moving dot.

“He’s out of options.”

Chase looked at my face.

“Syl… what do we do?”

I didn’t answer.

“Syl.”

He walked over to me and looked me dead in the eye.

“I’m going to ask you something. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Ask.”

“Do you want him to die?”

I was quiet for a long time.

The wind was howling outside. The metal walls of the bunkhouse were shaking.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Then where do you want him to die?”

I looked up at Chase.

“Because of him, my son is already down there.”

Chase let that sink in.

I stood up from my chair. The wound from yesterday’s fight was still throbbing.

“I’ll get the gear ready. Just in case.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t.”

He pulled the door open. The sea wind rushed in.

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you. You say we don’t go, we don’t go. You say we go… I’ll be your anchor line.”