The Last Descent

"Maren, are you out of your mind?"

My partner, Brody Gentry, snatched the folder back and spread it open in front of me again.

"$10 million. Do you have any idea how many jobs we'd have to risk our necks for to earn that kind of money? If you're turning this down, you've got to at least give us a reason."

I pulled my gloves back on and went back to running the daily equipment checks.

"I said no."

"Look at this." Brody flipped to the back of the file.

"The hull deformation on that submersible is severe. She's got less than 24 hours of oxygen left. A 23-year-old girl is trapped inside there."

My fingers stopped on the dial. My son, Robb Lattimer, had also been 23 the year he died.

"Maren, you're the only person in this entire region who can pull off a docking rescue at that depth."

Brody leaned in and lowered his voice. "If you don't go, she's dead."

I tightened the valve and turned to face him. "Brody, you've been with me for seven years. When have I ever turned down a job?"

He went still. "So why now?"

I did not answer.

"It shouldn't matter whether you know them or not."

Brody grabbed my arm, growing desperate. "Think about the money they’re offering.”

"I wouldn't take it for $100 million." I moved his hand off my arm, my voice still calm.

"Don't ask me why. In seven years, I can count the jobs I've refused on one hand. Just trust me on this."

Brody's face turned a deep red, like he had a thousand things to say yet could not get any of them out.

He had been with me for seven years.

He had been there from the very beginning, back when I had just gotten my deep-dive certification and rented a tin-walled shed to start this whole operation on my own.

He had watched me crack three ribs after being thrown by a surge current at 1,300 feet.

He had watched me drag a child who had already stopped breathing from the ocean floor onto the deck, then spend the rest of the night crouched at the stern, dry heaving until morning.

However, he had never seen me like this before.

"Fine."

Brody finally closed the folder and slammed it on the table.

"I trust you."

He turned and walked to the door, then stopped. When he spoke again, his voice was low and muffled.

"But she's a living, breathing person. If you change your mind, we're ready anytime."

The door shut behind him. I stood alone in the equipment room, staring at the folder Brody had thrown onto the table.

Griffin Lattimer looked older in the photograph on the cover than he did ten years ago, but his eyes had not changed.

When Robb had used up his last breath of oxygen at 3,600 feet, Griffin redirected the only rescue vessel that could reach Robb. It was all because Elise Rowe had called in hysterics, screaming that her daughter, Cora, had fallen into the water.

Cora had been in the shallows. She had merely lost her footing and swallowed a mouthful of water.

I closed my eyes and pushed the folder to the corner of the table.

My phone buzzed. It was a message from Brody.

[The client called. They want to speak directly to the lead technician. Do you want to talk to them?]

I stared at the message for a long time, then typed a reply and sent it back.

[I'll talk.]