The ocean was calm. Gulls circled overhead, calling out to each other, hoping for scraps of bread. The sun was low, the sky was clear, and the breeze was cool. To the others strapping on rebreathers, testing mouthpieces, and zipping up wetsuits around me, it was just another fine day for a dive.

I tightened my mask, employing over a month of diligent practice. I kept my head down, careful not to let any sign of emotion betray me. I must be reserved, calm, casual. Still, my fingers trembled. After so much time and effort—months of researching, twisting arms, bribing, and swindling—finally, the day had come!

The divemaster walked past, hollering for the roll. I heard my name and raised my hand, to a stiff nod of acknowledgement. Fourteen professional divers, experts in marine salvage, and one imposter hidden amongst them. So far, I had kept up the charade, but after today there would be no pretending. This was my only chance.

My hand felt for the folded knife concealed in my pocket. My teeth clenched in resolve. Nothing would be left to chance.

“All right, people!” the divemaster called. “This is it! Remember, we’ve only got till Friday to pull this off! All those grieving families are counting on us.”

I suppressed a scoff. In that, I wasn’t alone. Was Liv Kaffenberger’s reality-show family really counting on us to recover her body, or just her billion-dollar jewel heart? After five days of salvage, this ship would be bursting with the trophies, heirlooms, and, most importantly, the heartstones of society’s most privileged. Still, they’d kept saying that, trumpeting the publicity stunt even to us, the people carrying out the mission. So what if hundreds had died? Celebrities were just vessels for valuable things, far too valuable to be left on the seafloor.

Was this really salvage, or piracy?

“Right then, let’s get underway!”

We all waddled to the edge of the deck in our oversized flippers and jumped overboard, one at a time. I stepped up to the edge, ran one final equipment check, then gave the thumbs up. The divemaster nodded and waved me on.

This was it. I could only pray that a month of private training would pay off. I held the mask to my face, took a deep breath, and leaped into the sea.

Cold Pacific saltwater embraced me. As the shock wore off I floated just below the surface amidst a dozen others. I breathed and water did not rush in. My lungs filled and emptied, and I suppressed a sigh of private relief. One hurdle down.

A dozen voices buzzed in my ears:

“Alan, ready to dive.”

“Parker, ready to dive.”

“Haines, ready to dive,” I spoke up.

“Roger that. All accounted for. Good hunting, boys.”

And with that, fourteen divers looked down into the sea and began the plunge.

Slowly, we sank into the deep. Meter by meter, the sunlight diminished. Out of the darkening gloom, it rose up to meet us, the ghostly, sunken wreckage of the once proud vessel: the Golden Queen.

The pressure mounted and my breathing accelerated. I kept to the back, just out of sight. As we descended towards the hull a great wound in the side marked our entrance. Solid metal had been flayed and torn, as though by the hand of a wrathful giant. Hammerhead sharks swam in and out of the cavity as we made our way carefully in, one man at a time. I hung back, coming in last, and stayed well behind as we swam through the once opulent vessel.

Crimson carpets, crystal chandeliers, and golden handrails looked like ancient ruins long forgotten. In my head, we moved through the map along the Mezzanine Deck, through sunken hallways and corridors.

“All right, lets find some treasure!” someone called out over the comms.

As the party began to break up, I backed quickly into the shadows. The other divers swam ahead, but I swam back the way we had come. Rounding the corner, I activated my stopwatch, and the countdown began.

I switched off my comms.

Silence fell, broken only by the deep groans of the ship. I was alone in the dark.

My hands shook, and not from the cold. The faint glow of my own heartstone was hidden beneath my wetsuit, but it must have been dancing with lights. They said in moments of ecstasy, heartstones came alive with kaleidoscopic colors. I had never seen this phenomenon before, but I would certainly get to enjoy it after this. My exultation would last a lifetime.

I swam past cabin after cabin, following the map in my head. How long would it take them to realize they were only thirteen? And how long then before salvage was suspended to search for the lost diver? There was very little time, perhaps only minutes, so speed was paramount.

Faded numbers marked each doorframe. I recognized them all too well from meticulously studied photographs. I followed them, knowing my quarry was close ahead: Room 1200. It was not common knowledge and not publicly known, but I had found the truth. I alone knew which one was hers. Months I had devoted, and now here I was, standing (metaphorically) before victory.

The door was hanging off its hinges. The luxury suite behind it was a ruin: painted masterpieces, clothes fit for royalty, and invaluable jewelry littering the floor, faded, and decayed. Even the furniture had been priceless, now just detritus. In one fell swoop, the splendor of society’s darling had been reduced to silt and seaweed.

And there, on the bed, lay a body not even death could disguise. She must have been asleep, drowned right in her covers. Her once beautiful figure was now bloated and curious fish nibbled at her fingers, but it was her. She was unmistakable: Lisa Mayfield.

I had done it!

I pumped my fist in triumph. She was still here! Months since the accident, and I was first to the finish! But there was no time to celebrate. I had to act fast.

I drew out my knife. I felt crazed, barbaric even. Let the others scrounge for diamonds and gold! The heartstone of Lisa Mayfield, the most valuable gem in the world, was mine!

Then something moved in the corner of my vision.

Adrenaline pierced me like a spear. I kicked forward, away from the door, and whirled in midwater, brandishing the knife.

My heart darkened; the brilliant colors of victory snuffed out in dismay.

A lone diver floated in the doorway.

It was over. I was caught. I was found out. But wait…he was alone. The water was still. It was just me and him, facing each other over the corpse of the world’s sweetheart.

He tapped the side of his head, a threat and command. I switched on my private comm, and he spoke to me alone.

“So, it’s you?”

My grip on the knife tightened.

“What are you doing here?”

“I would ask you the same. But I think it’s obvious.”

I brandished my weapon.

“It’s mine.”

“It’s nobody’s.”

“Oh, come on, Alan! The most flawless heartstone in history! It should be shared with the world! What, do you want them to get it?”

“No. It’s her heart. She never wanted it flaunted before, and she still doesn’t now.”

“What the hell would you know about her last wishes?”

He gave no answer. My lip curled behind the mouthpiece.

“I’ve been through hell to get here,” I growled. “You’ve no idea what I sacrificed! This score is all I’ll ever need!”

“It’s not a score. It’s a woman’s heart.”

“You won’t stop me. Not when I’m this close.”

“I have to.”

“Then why not call it in?”

The line crackled with static. He made no move for his comm. Adrenaline surged within me.

“See? You’re here for it too.”

“I just want her wishes honored!”

“The hell with that! You’re just like me: a thief! Now get out of here!”

“No. I won’t let you take it from her.”

“She’s dead!”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“I need that heart!”

“It’s not yours to have.”

“GET OUT!”

He raised his hands, and with a strong kick shot through the water straight at me.

We collided over the bed. He grabbed my wrist and held the knife away. We thrashed and clawed, churning up the fine sediment that had settled in the cabin. I grabbed for his rebreather as he fought for mine, both of us grasping for the vital hoses pumping air to the other’s lungs.

Then his hand found my mouthpiece and tore it away.

I inhaled a mouthful of seawater and choked. Within seconds, my vision began to darken. My free arm flailed as he pushed me down to the floor. My lungs burned. His hand found my throat.

I let go of the knife. It floated down, landed in my other hand, and I swiped at Alan’s side. He recoiled, a massive bubble issuing from his mouth. As he slackened, I kicked up, pushing him off me, and the back of his head slammed into the ceiling.

His body went limp. I fumbled for my mouthpiece, shoved it back between my teeth. Fresh air filled my lungs again and I gasped in relief.

My pulse was pounding. Powerful emotion coursed through me from my heartstone. I was still found out. There was no more pretending. This was it, it had to be. There was only one thing left for me: the prize.

The prize. It was mine for the taking! I turned back to the corpse. I could see it through her garment: the faintest red glow. The thrill of victory swelled within me. It was mine!

Triumph conquered panic. Carefully, I slit open her dress and reached into the tiny cavity beneath it.

My fingertips closed around a small, smooth stone.

The most fabulous heartstone ever known…the fame and fortune of this recovery would sustain me for a lifetime! Who or what I was would not matter anymore. I could be whoever I wanted to be! I lifted the gem to my face, the first layperson ever to gaze upon the wondrous jewel heart of…

I froze.

My air departed in a terrible gasp.

The heart of Lisa Mayfield was a cloudy, umber hunk of blighted crystal.

My extremities went numb. My legs turned to jelly. It could not be! The most fabulous jewel in the word…a radiant, sparkling, glowing ember of pink fire…this?! The jewel heart of a prostitute would be more brilliant! How?! Why…?

And then I saw it: a huge crack split the gemstone near end to end, cracking it open to its core. The blight spread from there, tainting the once pure, flawless jewel.

The heart of Lisa Mayfield was broken.

How could that be? Her life had been perfect, a worldwide example of selflessness, virtue, and contentment! Moreover, countless experts had consistently declared this gem, without equivocation, to be the utmost standard of crystalline perfection ever seen! She had never even had a relationship! How could this travesty be unknown?

It must have happened aboard the Golden Queen itself.

Three short days before the accident. How…who…what could possibly have happened to Lisa Mayfield to fall to such potent heartbreak in three days?!

It would be a mystery for the age…one that left no place on earth for me, the foolish thief who had gambled everything he had on this ruined wonder of the world.

And lost.

The stone fell from my hand and sank to the floor as I sank to my knees. Alan’s blood stained the water around me. There would be no pretending, only running, and nothing now to show for it.

It had all been for nothing.

There was no gem, no fame, no fortune.

Only a woman’s broken heart.