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“Even if I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it was there… an underwater exploration of this size?” He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dr. Legarde, we simply do not have the funds we once had. If we had the money, we would give it to you.” Despite the incontrovertible no, his eyes are kind as he pushes my application to the side. “As always, you’re impressive. Publish what you’ve found so far in one of the academic journals. I can see a lot of promise in your research, and I’d enjoy looking over any papers you produce.”

Uncurling my fists, I smile faintly at the praise. Relaxing slightly against the hard chair-back, my smartwatch buzzes; it manages everything from my breathing to my calendar.

“But this is coming from above.” He shakes his head. “The university simply won’t fund your search.” He smiles sadly, and I recognize the look.

He wanted me to get the grant.

Stomach sinking, I close my eyes.

I’ll find theSantu Espirituwithout their help.

Though how I’m going to come up with the money…

The prickling sensation returns, and I cast my gaze out his office window, to the bay glistening under the blazing sun.

“I understand. Thank you for your time and consideration.” Somehow peeling my legs from the chair, I stand, resolving toleave with my dignity intact. “I’ll consider your advice regarding the paper.”

Ha. No way I’m writing that paper, all so some jerk treasure hunter can find theSantu Espiritufirst.

I head for the door, blinking back tears threatening to ruin my ‘I’ve got my life together’ professor vibe. Straightening my shoulders, my hand closing around the cool metal doorknob, I swallow back an undignified sob until Dr. Weaselton’s voice brings me up short.

“June, do you really think it’s out there? This close to the Texas shoreline? Wouldn’t we have found it with all the oil drilling?” Even now, he is incredulous.

Not trusting myself to turn around, to make another plea for the grant, I take a breath. “I would stake my entire career on it, Dr. Weaselton,” I say, finally stepping into the blessedly cool hallway. The sticky hair on my shoulders practically floats as the AC blasts it.

The door snicks shut behind me as goosebumps prickle my skin.

Maybe it’s leftover adrenaline from the meeting. Thefailedmeeting.

My shoulders sag.

Yeah, adrenaline…or maybe I’m getting even more paranoid these days.

My watch buzzes, congratulating me on standing up.

At least I accomplished that.

My heels clack against the empty tile floor as I barrel down the hallway, thankful classes ended last week and summer semester won’t start for another week.

I’m ready to escape, to rip off the sweaty silk shirt and heels and replace them with a swimsuit, cutoffs, and flip-flops. Then make a new plan to find theSantu Espiritu.

The ship my father spent a lifetime looking for.

Like I’m going to now—with or without the sanction of my employer. I don’t need them, not necessarily.

Nope.

All I need is cash-flow. Resolve stiffening my backbone, I inhale deeply, trying to shake off the disappointment.

I’m better than this.

When a door closes, a window opens.

With any luck, a window that leads directly to a pile of money and the GPS coordinates of theSantu Espiritu.

You know, lightning strike, lottery winning luck.

Outside, the sea breeze dulls the stuffiness of the small, under-funded liberal arts building. My shoulder blades itch, and I glance back at the Brutalist concrete building, completely out of place in the flat salt marsh landscape. Its small slits for windows, the only reprieve from the dun-colored cement blocks.