Rust and Riches (Part 2)
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This entry is a continuation of Rust and Riches (Part One)
Ship Universe Note
- This post is part of our Wednesday ShipLog Stories series at Ship Universe
- We spotlight the human side of the maritime industry through fiction that is based on real-world scenarios.
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Lena didn’t move. “No. This is very real. It's a live wallet. No password, no ID, no name. We have full access to send this money anywhere we want.”
Luca didn’t laugh. He was staring at the floor like it might open up and swallow them.
“Shut it,” he said. “All of you.”
They looked at him, puzzled.
“This isn’t a scratch-off ticket, alright? This is someone’s life. You don’t park that kind of money and forget about it. People die over less. Far, far, far less.”
Lena folded her arms. “Yeah, but someone did forget it. Or lost it. Or died.”
“Which means,” Luca said slowly, “if someone finds out we touched it, we’re done. This kinda thing? It never ends well. Ever.”
Danny opened his mouth, then closed it.
Marco rubbed his face. “So we do… what? Leave it?”
Luca took out a lighter from his back pocket and made a quick decision.
“Wait,” Lena said.
But the flame had already touched the edge of the paper. It curled instantly, blackening to ash in Luca’s hand.
“Damn it,” Danny muttered. “We could of voted.”
Lena didn’t blink. She held up her phone. “I still have access,” she said.
The glow of the screen bathed her face again.
“No,” Luca snapped. “Delete it. We go to work, we go home and pretend we never found this.”
“I say we vote,” said Danny. Marco nodded.
"We should at least give this some thought," said Lena.
Luca let out a deep breath. "Okay. Let's meet at Rusty’s after shift. No phones. No dumb ideas. Just talk this out."
They all agreed.
One hour and thirteen minutes later...
A black SUV pulled up just beyond the perimeter gate. The guards didn’t stop him. He didn’t slow down.
The man who stepped out wore loafers too clean for a scrapyard and a blazer that didn’t know the meaning of sweat. His name was Victor Halden, and he looked like someone late for the most important meeting of his life.
He walked straight toward the Odessa Blue.
One of the yardhands jogged over. “Sir, this area’s restricted.”
“N, it isn't. I’m looking for the team working Ballast Tank 4,” Victor said. “Now.”
The yardhand hesitated. “You mean Luca’s crew?”
Victor didn’t answer. Just kept walking.
By the time he reached the hull, Luca was already waiting for him.
“You the foreman?” Victor asked.
“I am.”
Victor didn’t stop. He walked right past Luca and straight into the gutted hull of Odessa Blue, moving like a man who already knew the layout. He ducked through the cutout and stepped into the sealed compartment, now exposed to daylight and sawdust.
He stood there for a beat, taking it in. The scorched edge of the opening. The smell of burnt steel. The burn mark on the floor.
Then he turned, stuck his head out through the breach, and called out flatly:
“Who’s been working on this compartment?”
Luca narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
Victor didn’t flinch. “I need to meet with every person who had access. Right now.”
“You got documents?” Luca asked. “Ownership? Warrant? Anything?”
Victor looked him in the eye, voice cool and even. “Look. I don't have time for any of that. I just want everyone to go home tonight, alive. Stop for a beer, tuck their kids in, whatever it is they do. I want that for them.”
Luca studied him. It wasn’t a threat. Not exactly. It was something else, too calm to be a bluff, too focused to be casual.
After a long pause, Luca gave a slow nod. “Give me five minutes.”
He turned and walked off to gather Lena, Marco, Danny… and himself.
They met in the break trailer. No windows, one flickering light, and the sharp scent of microwaved gumbo still lingering from lunch. Victor stood while the others sat, silent. Luca crossed his arms. Marco leaned back. Danny fiddled with a dented thermos. Lena locked eyes with Victor, calm but ready.
Victor spoke first. “This ship arrived here on accident and someone opened something that should’ve stayed sealed. There was a small item that is now missing. That's okay - it could have even been considered trash. Who has it?”
The four glanced around at each other, waiting for someone to break the silence, but no one did.
Victor’s eyes moved from face to face. “I don’t think any of you understand that you are about to enter into another world. This is no fairy tale. Much less, it is a tale that will end in grief and agony.”
His tone stayed cold and polite. hat made it worse. Hearts started beating faster in the silence.
Marco cleared his throat. “How about a prosition.”
Victor raised an eyebrow. “A what?”
Luca shook his head. “I think he meant a proposition.”
Marco nodded. “Yeah, a proposition. So, let’s say we help you find whatever it is you're looking for. Is there, maybe, like a finders fee? You know, shit, like, some way this doesn’t end with us dead and you empty-handed?”
Victor tilted his head, amused. “You’re not very good at this.”
“Nope,” Marco said. “But we’re listening.”
Victor walked over to the small counter, opened his wallet, and pulled out a folded card. It was blank on one side. On the other, a long string of characters, a crypto wallet address. He placed it face-up on the table.
“Find it and send the balance to this address and I will give you a commission.”
"Can you be more specific?" asked Lena.
Victor rolled his eyes. "1%"
"To split?" asked Marco.
"For each of you," said Victor.
Marco looked around the room. "Should we all sign a contract or something?"
"No," said Victor. "Subtract 4% and send. You have 24 hours." Victor turned without another word and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him like the end of a countdown.
Outside, a car door slammed shut.
Luca turned to Marco. No words. Just a quiet high-five. Then it hit.
“Oh shit,” Danny whispered, barely containing it.
“Wait, how much is one percent?” Marco asked.
Nina had already pulled out her phone. “Hang on…”
Her fingers flew across the calculator. They all leaned in.
The number blinked back at them.
Her eyes went wide. Marco had his hand over his mouth. Danny blinked repeatedly.
"Okay Lena," said Luca. "You are in charge now. How can you make all this happen?"
Lena took charge like she'd done it a hundred times. In the back corner of the yard office, she helped each of them install the same crypto app, moving fast, scan the QR, set the PIN, save the seed phrase, get the wallet address. Within minutes, they were ready. Each one had their own address, ready to receive. No one said much, but Danny. "I was so close to not taking this job."
Less than ten minutes later, Victor merged onto the highway heading south. The sun hovered low, casting sharp gold through the windshield. His phone buzzed in the console tray. He didn’t need to look. He already knew.
Victor nodded once, almost imperceptibly. Then he tapped the turn signal and took the exit ramp toward the airport.
Life After Odessa
Lena disappeared first. No goodbye, no phone call. She wired her cut to a private account, packed a single bag, and started moving. Thailand. Portugal. Morocco. She didn’t post about it. Didn’t keep in touch. But two years in, a scan in a Lisbon clinic showed something she couldn’t ignore. By the time she found out, it was late, terminal, fast-moving. She never said where she ended up. Just one message to the old group chat: “Thanks for the time I had.”
Luca stayed two more weeks at the yard, keeping his head down. Then one morning he just didn’t clock in. Bought a house three miles from his daughter’s apartment in Melbourne. Didn't tell her right away. Just started running into her at the park, offering to watch her kid while she worked late. Six months later, they were having Sunday dinner like nothing had ever gone wrong.
Danny paid off everything, loans, fines, even a parking ticket in a city he no longer lived in. Then he opened a speakeasy-style ramen shop out of an old shipping container. No menu, no hours, just good broth and cheap beer. He works twenty hours a week, sleeps eight every night, and owns quite the collection of fast boats and motorcycles.
Marco bought his mom a house in San Juan, paid off his kid’s future in full, then vanished into the Caribbean boat repair scene. Last anyone heard, he was living aboard a retrofitted catamaran, pulling engine jobs between islands, and bartering for food like it was 1974. No complaints. No taxes. No stress.
