The murky picture on Garrison’s pad shows the chest sitting on the ocean floor, ready to spill its millennia-old secrets. My hard work has paid off. A shiver of excitement flies through me like a live wire. This feels big. Like winning the Lottery big. Like being the first person to set foot on a new planet big.

“It might be empty.” Garrison’s lips are a flat line as we wait for the divers to approach the chest.

He’s paying for the expedition, which has been a huge expense. I’d approached several more reputable salvagers and treasure hunters—if there is such a thing—but none of them wanted to take a gamble on me and my research.

Garrison had two big finds under his belt—sunken Caribbean pirate ships. He had enough money to bankroll this expedition,but instead of offering me the fifty percent I was asking for, he bargained me down to nine percent.

To recoup his losses, he needs the chest to be full. Me? Just finding the thing fills me with pride… and it will ensure I’ll be offered the most prestigious jobs in my field for the rest of my career—even if it’s empty.

When I sought him out to partner with me, he reviewed my research. I showed him how Google Earth had become my friend, how I’d pored over the remnants of shipping charters from Ostia, as well as first, second, and third-hand accounts from Egyptian, Saxon, and Viking merchants to uncover details of the boat, its contents, and its destination.

I studied maritime weather until I thought my eyes would bleed—boring stuff. I came equipped with spreadsheets, reams of research, and a white paper I wrote about how global warming made it possible for us to find it even though two millennia of fortune seekers had failed.

He chewed on my proposition for weeks. Then, instead of an email, he called me and said his gut told him this was to be his fortune and his gut was never wrong. We signed a ream of non-disclosure agreements because I’d never given him an inkling of the exact location. He swore me to secrecy, reminding me that every unscrupulous treasure hunter in the world would love to beat us to this scoop. We needed a crew we could trust, so he recruited a team of men he knew and trusted from past operations.

Even though he only offered me nine cents on the dollar, I was lucky to get an experienced backer. Everyone else scoffed at the idea that theFortunacould be in the Norwegian Sea and only half a mile off the coast of this tiny, uninhabited island, miles from the coast of northern Norway. We anchored our boat, theEndurance, near shore, took the inflatable, and set up camp a few hundred feet inland.

My heart races as I watch Rick and Rowdy dive to the ancient chest, their movements kicking up small swirls in the Stygianwater. I grip the edge of Garrison’s waterproof pad, my knuckles turning white.

“Easy, easy,” I mutter as if they can hear me from the depths. The last thing we need is for them to break the chest in their excitement to open it. The chest might be empty and, other than the single sword we found weeks ago, is perhaps the most valuable thing we’re going to find on this expedition.

As I wait for them to make their way down, taking mandatory breaks so they don’t get the bends, I focus on the engraving on the sword we found. The thing didn’t fare well underwater for two thousand years, but when I carefully scraped off ancient barnacles, it said “Invictus” in Roman letters.

It means unconquerable or undefeated. A poem from the 1800s by that title says, “I am the Master of My Fate. I am the Captain of My Soul.” I’ve imagined a thousand stories about the ancient Roman who wielded this sword. What it would feel like to speak to such a man for even an hour…

Garrison’s gaze is glued to the screen, his unshaven jaw clenched tight. I can practically feel the tension radiating off him. This discovery could financially make or break him.

The divers reach the chest, about 100 feet below the surface. I watch as they carefully brush away the sediment encrusting the ancient wood. At this depth, they’ll have about twenty minutes of bottom time before needing to start their ascent.

My mind whirs with possibilities—gold, jewels, artifacts that could rewrite history.

Rowdy signals to Rick, and together they carefully lift the lid. Even through the shadowy water, I catch a glint of something shimmering inside. My throat constricts, as I don’t know whether to keep watching or close my eyes and wait to hear the outcome from Garrison.

Who am I kidding? I have to watch. “Is that…?” My voice is barely a whisper.

As if in slow motion, the divers reach into the chest, and suddenly the screen is filled with a cascade of golden coins, spilling out into the water like a scene from a pirate movie. I let out a whoop of joy, almost dropping the pad in my excitement.

“We did it! We actually did it!” I’m screaming loud enough to be heard all the way to the bottom of the ocean, all thoughts of professionalism forgotten.

“We’re fucking rich, Laura Turner!” Garrison’s ruddy face is split into a wide grin. “Fucking rich!”

This is the moment I’ve been dreaming of since I was a kid, the validation of all my hard work and perseverance. Pride explodes in my chest as my head spins with pictures of me accepting invitations for prestigious speaking engagements. And yeah, okay, I’m picturing myself driving a better car than my Ford Fiesta.

This isn’t just a historical discovery—it’s a life-changing one.

Rick and Rowdy carefully scoop handfuls of coins into their diving bags, mindful not to disturb the surrounding area too much. The gold glints even in the dim underwater light. After about fifteen minutes, they signal to each other that it’s time to ascend.

“They’re coming up now,” Garrison explains. “They’ll need to make a safety stop at about fifteen feet for a few minutes to avoid decompression sickness.”

Amid the chaos, I notice something odd on the screen. The drone’s headlights illuminate a crevasse near the remains of the ship. Global warming has done a number on the waters at this latitude in the Norwegian Sea. This boat was probably encased in ice not that many years ago. That deep chasm is still filled with ice.

I grab the drone’s controls and maneuver it closer to the anomaly, my hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. As the drone descends, it stops when it reaches solid ice. I hold my breath, unsure of what I’ll find.

And then I see it—a shape that sends chills down my spine. Could I be seeing things? It looks suspiciously like… human remains, frozen solid. But surely that isn’t possible. Maybe a rock formation? A statue, perhaps? Even as I develop hypotheses other than the obvious, my heart skips a beat, and a chill that has nothing to do with the cool air runs down my spine.

“Garrison, you need to see this.” My voice is urgent.

The body—or whatever it is—must have been from theFortuna, frozen for thousands of years. Finding gold was amazing—who doesn’t want to own over a thousand pounds of gold? But this? This is what true archaeologists dream of, a discovery of significance.