September 3, 2029
Subic Bay Freeport Zone – West Marina
9:40 AM
The vessel looked different when it was his.
Same hull. Same lines. Same color. But standing on the pier with the paperwork done, crew hired, flag registered, it felt more solid. Less like an item on a list, more like a tool he now had to justify owning.
Hana stood beside him, oversized sunglasses on, hair tied up, sneakers and a loose blouse. No corporate ID, no tablet, no stack of folders. Just a small sling bag and her phone.
"So this is it?" she asked. "Your rich-man crisis?"
Timothy snorted. "You make it sound like I bought a sports car."
"You bought a yacht," she said. "That's worse."
"It's not a yacht," he corrected. "It's an expedition vessel."
She stared at the matte graphite hull, the raised bridge, the plain railings. No polished chrome, no name painted in cursive, no fake teak decks.
"Yeah," she said. "This doesn't scream 'billionaire.' This screams 'Navy but with a higher budget.'"
