"Excuse me, sir," Dragnelle began, her voice a perfect balance of politeness and authority. "Any idea where I might find the yacht Rakoto?"
The old man studied her for a moment, his hands slowing in their work as he took her measure. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, but it was gone in an instant. With a nod, he pointed to the left, past a row of smaller fishing boats bobbing gently in the water. "It's out there," he said, his voice rough but steady. "That one. Big and fancy, like it owns the whole ocean."
Dragnelle tilted her head slightly, a polite smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Rakoto?" she asked, emphasizing the name, letting it roll off her tongue like an important detail she was testing him on.
The old man nodded, his focus returning to the net. "That's the one. Big boat. You'll know it when you see it."
Dragnelle gave a small chuckle, one that felt light and genuine on the surface, but carried an undercurrent of amusement. "Thank you," she said, her voice laced with subtle gratitude, though it was clear she had already made up her mind about everything he had just told her.
The elderly man barely looked up as she walked away, already engrossed in his work again.
Dragnelle moved down the pier with a steady, purposeful gait, her eyes scanning the horizon. As she neared the edge of the water, she pulled a small pair of binoculars from her bag, raising them to her eyes with a practiced motion. The world around her blurred into indistinct shapes and colors as she focused in on the distant yacht, its sleek silhouette coming into sharp view against the backdrop of the glistening sea.
The Rakoto was exactly what she had expected—a floating monument to excess and ostentation. Its gleaming white-and-gold hull caught the sunlight in such a way that it almost seemed to shimmer, as if the yacht itself were part of the very horizon, standing as a testament to both wealth and power. The yacht was anchored just far enough from shore to feel untouchable, exclusive, and unreachable.