I freeze for a pivotal second as the door at the other end of the hallway opens, and two men's voices spill out.

Conflicting thoughts rush through my mind on a wave of panic.

Run, one of them insists.

Stay calm and look normal, the other says. Running will make you look guilty. Besides, there's nowhere to go.

Heart thundering, I quickly realize which voice is right. As the two men see me, their jovial conversation ceases and their good humor disappears.

One of them is my employer, although I have never officially met him.

He's the owner of the massive vessel we're on.

I knew coming down here to the belly of the super yacht was a risk,

so I already have a story ready.

Now that I have wrestled control of my panic, I put that story to the test.

Donning an apologetic look and making

sure not to maintain too much eye contact, I say, I'm looking for extra towels, for the guests.

The owner of the yacht, billionaire Deke Barber, fixes his sad green eyes on me. It's impossible

to read them. The other man, another billionaire by

the name of Rich Adkins, looks momentarily guilty of something, like a teenager whose mother

just walked in on him mid-tug. Then that expression is gone and his face goes hard. But he knows

his place, and he looks to Barber to see what comes next.

Barber is in his late 50s.

He has dark hair that is not natural.

He can afford the plugs, and the poor posture of a man who spends too much time hunched over a computer,

although those days are surely long behind him.

Both men are dressed in casual outfits.

...