I always knew this. What I didn’t know was that he was parlaying his roadie connections into a terrible plan that involved me. His idea was to get his friend to employ him for the Fashion X concert, then preload equipment onto the Galaxy, including instruments, amplifiers, mixing boards, and one object that looked like it fit in but did not:

A limpet mine.

I did not know what a limpet mine was, Annabelle. I do now. Dobby told me. It is a naval explosive device that attaches with magnets to the underbellies of boats. Frogmen often affix them to hulls in secret, then blow them up from afar. Limpet mines have been used since World War II. How Dobby got access to one, I will never know.

But apparently he snuck this limpet mine in with the musical equipment. It was Friday afternoon, the last day of the Grand Idea voyage. He asked me to help him carry a drum case along the second deck. When we were alone, Dobby stopped, unlocked the top, and lifted it slightly.

“Look, cousin,” he said. Inside I saw a round dark-green device, a foot in diameter and six inches high.

“What is it?” I said.

“Something big enough to take this whole yacht down. And Jason Lambert and his rich friends with it.”

I was too stunned to respond. My breathing accelerated. My eyes darted down the corridor. Dobby began whispering about how I could lower him on a rope at night, when the Galaxy was anchored, then he’d attach this mine to the hull below the water line, where it could inflict the greatest damage.

I barely heard him. A thrumming sound had started in my head.

“What are you talking about?” I finally stammered. “I never—”

“Benji, listen to me. Do you know the effect this will have? There’s a former president on this yacht! There are high-tech billionaires who have been ripping people off for years! There are bankers, hedge-fund guys, and best of all, that pig Lambert. All these so-called Masters of the Universe. We can take them all out. It’ll be historic. We are gonna make history, Benji!”

I slammed the top shut. “Dobby,” I seethed, “you’re talking about killing people.”

“People who are awful to other people,” he said. “Who manipulate them. Exploit them. Like Lambert. You hate him, don’t you?”

“We can’t play God.”

“Why not? God isn’t doing anything about it.”

When I didn’t react, he gripped my forearm. His voice lowered. “Come on, cousin,” he said. “This is our moment. For all the crap we put up with as kids. For your mother. For Annabelle.”

When he mentioned your name, I swallowed so hard, I thought my tongue went down my throat.

“What happens to us?” I mumbled.

“Well, we’re the captains of this idea.” He blew out his cheeks. “Captains go down with the ship.”

“You mean—”