Page 27 of No One Aboard
From Hell to the Handbasket: The Early Career of Francis Cameron
Dan Gordon III
Francis Cameron, the philanthropist and CEO/cofounder ofPrometheus Wireand Unwind Yachting Co., has inspired a generation with his rags-to-riches career.
Raised modestly in Fontana, CA, by a single father, Cameron was an underperforming student. His grandparents sent him on a disciplinary sailing program for boys in his junior year in the hopes of inspiring more attention to his academics, but the voyage seemed to have the opposite effect, and afterward Cameron dropped out of high school.
Despite his disinterest in school, Cameron was enamored with industrial history and philosophies like Stoicism and conducted much of his own education at his local library. He worked in construction alongside his father, Bill, until Bill’s death from a heart attack when Francis was nineteen. This sent Cameron into a tailspin of odd jobs from catering services to tree debarking, until he found himself working at a marinain Florida with individuals who would later pave the path for his astonishing career as an entrepreneur. Cameron toldExec Monthly, “I had to will it into existence. Bootstraps and such. You cannot succeed if you can’t envision. It’s got to already be real to you.” [Profile continued pg. 39]
Chapter 12
Jerry Baugh
The cat was screaming, long, languishing yowls that made Jerry’s already small cabin feel even more minuscule. Jerry slammed a pillow over his head. “Quit that, won’t ya? I fed you plenty.”
The cat watched him from the doorway, tail quivering like the end of a flame. Jerry lifted the pillow slowly. Had that worked?
The godforsaken creature resumed his shrieking. The cries were siren-like, hitting a pitch and frequency that Jerry truly believed could drive a man to do terrible things. Wasn’t it enough that his dead brother and his worries aboutThe Old Eileenwere cutting his sleep hours in half? The last thing he needed was a demon cat from a ghost ship encroaching on his rest.
Jerry sat up after another minute of the screams and hurled the pillow with all his might at the cat, who easily leaped to safety.
“Damn you,” Jerry growled. He stood so fast that his head hit the ceiling, and he struggled, still grumbling, into a Panthers sweat shirt.
He resisted the urge to kick the cat as he went up on deck, shutting the hatch behind him. The animal stopped screaming, as if satisfied by Jerry’s absence.
“Demon cat,” Jerry muttered, shuffling around his fishing gear to make himself a space to sleep in the cockpit. He was so busy lamenting his lost bed that the idea didn’t strike him until he’d settled in a chair and was staring straight atThe Old Eileen.
She’s got beds, he mused to himself.At least six of ’em. Nice ones with thick blankets and an army of pillows.Jerry heaved himself from the chair.Take that, cat, he thought.You can sleep on this dump, and I’ll take a turn on your luxury yacht.
Jerry flicked on every light switch he could find belowdecks ofThe Old Eileen, not because he was intimidated by the empty boat, just as a matter of not bumping into stuff on a vessel he barely knew. Now the question was which bed to choose. The primary suite certainly seemed to be the most sumptuous option, although even one of the crew beds would be an upgrade from Jerry’s coffee-stained bunk. But why not go big? This was Jerry’s ship, after all.
At least, for now.
The primary suite’s king bed devoured him. Jerry sank into the eiderdown comforter like a stone in the sea. He didn’t even need to pull the blankets over his body. He tilted his cap over his eyes and let himself begin to doze.
My ship. My bed. My—
Something creaked in the hallway, muffled by the closed door. Jerry didn’t bother opening his eyes. Ships creak, that’s what they do. He heard it again a couple minutes later, but at that point his body was heavy and drifting down deeper. The sound might as well have been the prelude to a dream.
Then something banged. Jerry snapped awake. He knew that noise, had heard it a thousand times. It was the sound of a bilge panel on the floor dropping closed. Jerry regretted not pulling the mountainous bedding over his body as a cold, creeping sweat trickled down the back of his neck.
Someone else was on the ship.
Unlike when he’d foundThe Old Eileen, there was no harpoon gun within reach. No radio hooked to his pants. There was nothing Jerry could do but walk in slow-motion horror to the door and peer outside. The hallway was dark. That couldn’t be right.
He had made sure to turn on all the lights.
Nothing had appeared out of the ordinary when he’d come in. Did that mean someone had just come aboard? But no... the bilge panel slamming shut...
Someone had beenhiding.
Jerry waited, too immobilized to do anything else. He stared into the darkness, fingernails sinking into the palm of his hand. Had the intruder come out of the bilge? Or gone inside? The thought of opening the panels to check made Jerry fiercely wish he had stayed on theSheila 2.0with the scruffy cat and its siren screams.
He forced himself to uncurl his fist and dive a hand into his back pocket. He didn’t want to turn on his phone. The light might reveal things in the hallway he wasn’t ready to see. But someone was sneaking around his ship. He had to call for help. He had to call Madden.
Against his instincts, Jerry pressed the phone’s home button.
Something rushed down the hallway past him, the air from its movement hitting his face. Jerry felt around for the nearest light switch and flipped it, bathing the hallway in light.
