I didn’t see my family on Nassau. I learned later that they spent the day on the public beach near the port because their snorkeling trip was canceled. Brandon and Dad argued over whether to pay $79 apiece to rebook it.
I spent the morning walking through the pink colonial buildings of downtown Nassau, then sat at a café on Bay Street with a mango smoothie and read Patricia’s draft letter three times.
It was two pages long and very calm. It informed Richard Miller that his promissory note dated three years earlier was in default, that the balance of $36,812.44 including accrued interest was now due in full, and that Millie Miller held a perfected security interest in five pieces of equipment, listed by make, model, and serial number. It said Millie had no objection to any business arrangement Richard chose to make, provided her loan was repaid in full first. If Richard pledged the equipment as collateral to any third party without satisfying her lien, Millie would pursue all remedies available under Colorado law.
At the bottom, Patricia had added a line I didn’t expect.
“Ms. Miller has asked me to state that she would prefer to resolve this matter privately, as a family, and is willing to discuss a reasonable repayment schedule.”
I called her back. “I didn’t ask you to add that last part.”
“I know,” Patricia said. “But I’ve done this for thirty-one years, and I could hear it in your voice. You don’t want to destroy him. You want him to see you.”
I couldn’t answer her.
“Print it in the ship’s business center,” she said. “Hand it to him yourself. And Millie? Bring a witness.”
That evening, back on the ship, I printed two copies of the letter for $3. Then I went to find my witness.
I found Uncle Ray alone at the pool bar on deck twelve, nursing a beer he’d paid for himself.
“Hey, kid,” he said.
“Uncle Ray, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“How much do you know about Brandon?”
He set his beer down. “Not much. Seems like a talker. Your dad thinks he hung the moon.” He frowned. “Why?”
I showed him the court records on my phone: the two judgments, the delinquent LLC, Kelsey Morrow’s complaint about the $23,400 for a duplex that didn’t exist.
Uncle Ray read it all twice. Then he let out a long, slow breath.
“Your father’s going to sign over half the business to this guy,” he said. “Half of what my dad started in 1979.”
“Grandpa started it?”
“Your grandfather built his first house on Federal Boulevard with his own two hands. Richard took it over in ’94.” Ray shook his head. “Rich always wanted to be the big shot. Never could stand being told he was wrong.”
“I need to tell him,” I said. “Tomorrow, before the captain’s dinner. Before Brandon proposes and they sign anything.”
Ray looked at me for a long moment.
“You know he’s going to say you’re doing it out of spite,” he said. “Because of what he said in the buffet.”
“I know.”
“And you’re going to do it anyway?”
“Mom asked me what I’d do,” I said. “She said I always give in eventually. I’m not giving in this time. But I’m not going to hurt him either. I’m just going to tell him the truth.”
Uncle Ray picked up his beer, drained it, and set the empty glass on the bar.
“Then I’m coming with you,” he said.
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