transcript

Speaker 1:
[00:00] American Scandal uses dramatizations that are based on true events. Some elements including dialogue might be invented, but everything is based on historical research. It's March 2018 in Claremont, a small city just outside Los Angeles, California. Late morning sunlight slants through the blinds of the office of William Conan. Narrow bars of shadow stretch across his desk, and a cup of coffee goes cold in his hands as Conan sits lost and thawed. Conan is a CEO of Hydrospace, a subsea and aerospace engineering company. Last year, they were contracted by the entrepreneur Stockton Rush to design an experimental porthole for his new Titan submersible. Conan only supplied it on the understanding that Rush and his company OceanGate would get the new window thoroughly tested, but what he's heard about Titan's development in the month since has him worried. Conan is also a senior figure in the Marine Technology Society, a professional organization of engineers and inventors, and several other members have been reaching out to him to share their concerns about the Titan. Conan feels pressure to step in, but he knows Stockton Rush won't appreciate the interference, so he needs some advice. He reaches for his phone and calls someone he thinks can help. Yeah, Rob McCallum speaking. Engineer Rob McCallum is also a member of the Marine Technology Society. Hey Rob, it's Will Conan. Will, how are you? Well, to be honest, I'm worried, and I think you know why. Oh, Stockton Rush. McCallum has a history with Rush as well. He was invited to join OceanGate as a consultant, but he turned down the offer after reviewing Titan's design. Conan leans back in his chair and sighs. Yeah, I keep hearing more and more worrying things about the Titan. Poor design choices, testing, shortcuts, Stockton shutting people out. You're one of the few people who've seen the full plan, so tell me if I'm overreacting. Well, I wish I could. Titan is ambitious, let's call it that. And you know, ambition's fine, don't get me wrong, but ambition without oversight, that's just dangerous. Well, I've been discussing it with the society and some people have suggested that we should issue a statement, something formal, you know, like a caution. But I don't know if we can even do that. Well, Stockton's going to say you're just scared of the competition, of course, but I understand the impulse, you know. After I looked over the plans, I sent him an email detailing all my concerns. It was very calm, professional. I suggested a third-party review, offered resources that could help. I just wanted to make it clear that I was on his side, but still had concerns. Well, what did he say? Well, he fired back a pretty nasty reply. Oh, yeah? Yeah, yeah. Here, let me find it. Some nonsense about industry gatekeepers. Here we go. I'm tired of industry players who try to use a safety argument to stop innovation. We've heard the baseless cries of, you are going to kill someone way too often. I take this as a serious personal insult. A personal insult, huh? Yeah. And he ended with a legal threat. He said if I keep interfering, he'd call in the lawyers. Oh, God, he thinks we're the enemy. Conan's fingers drum anxiously on his desk. Well, we could try appealing to the investors, I guess, but they're probably hearing the same pitch he gives everyone else. Yeah, I think we can do what we can. We can warn him, we can advise him, but no one's going to force him to listen. And we can't intervene. God, I just wish he'd let us help. Yeah, so do I, because you know, if Titan fails, it won't just be OceanGate's problem. God forbid, if anything really happens, it'll damage the entire industry. William Conan and Rob McCallan spend the next few minutes bemoaning the position they're in. Titan's design is unlike anything they've seen before. If it works, it could herald the beginning of an exciting new age in deep sea exploration. But OceanGate is avoiding all scrutiny, hiding its revolutionary submersible in the shadows. And it seems that there's nothing Conan and McCallan can do to bring it into the light. From Audible Originals, I'm Lindsay Graham, and this is American Scandal. By 2018, OceanGate CEO Stockton Rush had a grand vision of what his company could be. His dreams for the future included a fleet of self-driving autonomous submersibles that could dive up to 20,000 feet. He even imagined a futuristic world in which OceanGate operated underwater bases, like space stations on the ocean floor. And Rush was always eager to share his big ideas. But when it came to the technological details of the Titan submersible, he was less open. Investors, colleagues and potential customers could hear the pitch, but they couldn't see the specifications. Because as far as Rush was concerned, the less people knew, the fewer questions they could ask. And he had no interest in oversight or regulations. Rush believed he was racing toward the future, and he wasn't going to let anyone slow him down. This is episode 3, Full Speed Ahead. It's early April 2018 in Claremont, California. William Conan taps a steering wheel in time with the music on the radio as he drives to work the morning breeze rushing through the open window. Conan is a busy man, and his daily commute is one of the few moments when his mind isn't swarming with designs, deadlines or the politics of the small but fiercely opinionated submersible industry. But today that calm doesn't last. His cell phone rings and glancing at the display, he sees Stockton Rush's name. A wry smile crosses Conan's face because he's been expecting this call. He presses a button and greets Rush, but Rush skips the pleasantries. His voice crackles with anger as he accuses Conan of trying to undermine OceanGate. Conan knows exactly what Rush is talking about. A few days earlier he drafted a letter to Rush on behalf of the Marine Technology Society. It didn't pull any punches. The one-page document expressed deep concern about Titan and warned that OceanGate's experimental approach could result in a catastrophe that would undermine the entire submersible industry. But Conan never mailed the letter. The Marine Technology Society is just a professional body with no formal role in regulating the activities of OceanGate or any other organization. Intervening an OceanGate business could drag the society into legal difficulty. It could even run afoul of federal antitrust lawsuits for overstepping its powers. Still Conan wanted the concerns heard, so he devised a way to deliver the message unofficially. Instead of sending the letter, he circulated it privately within the society asking for others' input. But in a small industry where news travels fast, he suspected the letter would quickly leak and reach Rush. This early morning phone call proves that Conan was right. So for several minutes Rush defends OceanGate's development of Titan. His argument is a familiar one. Titan is pushing the envelope and breaking new ground. It's too innovative to be judged by conventional standards. Only those on the inside at OceanGate can truly understand what they're doing. But Conan tells Rush that there's a simple solution to that. He can let people in. He can allow an outside agency to inspect Titan. Nearly every vessel on the seas is examined by an independent regulator and certified as safe, a process known as classing. And without being classed, ships cannot be insured or carry paying passengers. OceanGate's first submersible Antipodes was bought second hand, and it had been independently examined and approved by the American Bureau of Shipping. It had all the insurance and approvals it needed. But for submersibles built from scratch by OceanGate, Rush has shunned external review. Even though his company's marketing boasts that Titan meets or exceeds the standards set by the classification agencies, he's never allowed them to inspect the vessel. And during this conversation with William Conan, Rush repeats his argument that these agencies won't understand the cutting edge design and that their oversight will only slow him down. Conan pushes back. In his mind, opening Titan to independent scrutiny wouldn't stifle innovation, it would strengthen it. A fresh set of eyes could catch problems OceanGate might have missed. But Rush still refuses to let in any outsiders. By the end of the phone call with Conan, he's agreed to drop references to Titan meeting safety standards from OceanGate's ads, and he's said that he'll emphasize that the submersible is experimental and uncertified in their waivers in the future. But aside from these concessions, nothing else is going to change. Conan suspected this would be the case. Still, now at least he can tell himself that his voice is worries, and if Rush chooses to ignore them, there's little else he can do. So, despite the warnings of Conan and the Marine Technology Society, Stockton Rush pushes ahead. Titan is soon complete, and Rush is ready to take the new submersible into the deep for the first time. In April 2018, OceanGate engineers pack up Titan and fly it to Marsh Harbor in the Bahamas. There, Rush climbs inside and pilots it down to 1600 feet. When Titan surfaces hours later, the afternoon sun hangs low over the Atlantic. OceanGate intern Emily Hammermeister watches from the support vessel as Rush emerges from the sub. Hammermeister is new to OceanGate, recruited straight out of the University of Washington following graduation. This is her first real dive outside the classroom. The wind whips her blonde hair across her cheeks, and she tucks them behind her ear as Rush climbs a ladder. OceanGate staffers applaud as he reaches the deck. He pauses, turns toward the horizon, and sweeps an arm proudly across the sea. Well, now that was a hell of a dive. He picks up a bottle of champagne resting in a nice bucket. Titan handled like a dream, smooth, responsive, practically humming. What Hammermeister swallows, she has a tablet tucked under her arm with data that tells a different story. Rush still pops a cork with a casual twist, and it arcs overboard and splashes into the turquoise water. He raises the bottle in a toast to the crew. Here's to history in the making. A few of the techs cheer, but Hammermeister stays quiet. After exchanging a few handshakes with some of the crew, Rush catches her hesitation. Hey, Emily, not in the mood to celebrate? No, it's really exciting, all of it. I'm still going over some of the acoustic readings. All right, walk me through it. Sure. Hammermeister taps the screen awake. Okay, so during your descent, we recorded several sharp sounds associated with stress events, anomalous spikes. Rush nods and takes a swig of champagne. Yeah, I heard those. You heard them? Inside the sub? Yeah, big pops. They sure got my attention. And that didn't worry you? Not really. Well, don't look so surprised. Carbon fiber behaves differently than steel. It needs to settle, adjust to the pressures we're putting it under. Season it, if you will. Season it? Like a cast-iron skillet? Yeah, a little more sophisticated than that, obviously, but same basic idea. As the material is cycled under pressure, micro-adjustments will occur. It's all part of the process. Hammermeister tries to keep her expression neutral. Well, I just never heard of seasoning in any of my classes. Well, that's because academia rarely tests carbon fiber at these depths. We're exploring new territory here, Emily. We're innovators, and we have to name things as we go along. She looks at the tablet again. Right. It's just, the spikes were strong enough that the monitoring system flagged them, and I just wanted to make sure someone more senior will review them. Oh, they will, of course. That's why we collect the data. But I was inside Titan today, and she felt solid. The bumps we experienced were just the hall getting acquainted with its new environment. Look, Emily, we're building something the world has never seen before. There's no manual, no precedent. If we treat every twitch of a sensor like some red alarm, we're never going to get anywhere. Progress requires a little more tolerance. Rush claps a hand lightly on her shoulder. But you did good work today. You'll go far here. Well, thank you. I appreciate that. Titan's going far too, and next time we'll push even deeper. Interns like Emily Hammermeister make up about a third of OceanGate's engineering team and earn as little as $13 an hour. As they're young and inexperienced, they rarely push back against the company's unconventional approach. But while Rush downplays the cracking noises during his first deep sea dive, one more experienced colleague does not. OceanGate Director of Engineering Tony Nissen examines the data from the acoustic monitoring system in detail, and he does not like what he sees. Sharp peaks on the readout suggest to him that the carbon fiber hull isn't seasoning, it's breaking. He asks that Rush slow down the testing process to give his engineers time to examine the hull in detail, but Rush is a man in a hurry. After allowing only a brief pause to check for any obvious cracks and defects, Rush presses ahead. Titan is towed farther out into the ocean to the edge of the continental shelf, where the seafloor rapidly drops away. There the sub is lowered to 13,000 feet without anyone inside. When it's brought back to the surface, OceanGate engineers pour over the readouts, searching for any evidence that the carbon fiber strands inside the hull have snapped under pressure. But when he gets the results, Rush is satisfied with the tests, and eager to take the sub back to the bottom of the ocean, this time with a pilot on board. But a string of setbacks delays its return to the deep. First, the submersible is hit by lightning, damaging its electronics. Then on a shallow dive with Rush inside, it abruptly loses power and communications. Rush spends nine uncomfortable hours sealed inside as the sub rolls helplessly in choppy seas. Even so, Rush is not deterred, and he still believes Titan is ready to return to the depths of the ocean with a pilot inside. He also has no intention of letting anyone else take the glory, so on December 10th, 2018, he offers a cheery wave as OceanGate engineers close the titanium end cap and secure it with bolts. Moments later, the sub is lowered into the waters off the Bahamas and begins his descent to the bottom. Soon Rush is alone with only the soft hum of Titan's systems for company. The light through the porthole fades from rich turquoise to dark ink. Sitting cross-legged in the cramped space, Rush scans the controls and readouts. Everything looks normal. He taps out a short message on the small keyboard mounted beside him, and the support crew on the surface responds immediately. Everything looks good. At 8,000 feet down, the pressure outside is enough to crush steel. So Rush checks the hull stress indicators, and they all remain in the green. Titan continues to descend, and its thrusters occasionally fire as Rush fine-tunes the vessel's bearing. But when the depth gauge clicks just past 10,000 feet, the sub suddenly shudders, Titan lurches upward as if it's been yanked by an invisible line. Rush frowns and reaches for the modified PlayStation controller. He presses a button firing the Titan's thrusters, trying to force the vessel back down. For a moment, the sub responds. The unplanned descent slows, but then Titan seems to hesitate before drifting slowly upward again. Rush types a quick message to the surface to let them know what's happened. He waits for the familiar blink of a reply, but there's nothing. He tries again, tapping the keys more quickly, but still no word comes back. Rush glances at the communications panel. There are no incoming messages and no acknowledgement that his has been received either. Rush tries a third time and then a fourth, but he doesn't get an answer. Rush realizes that he's now sealed inside a vessel no one can reach. There's nothing he can do, but hope that with a systems reboot, communications with a support ship can be restored. Until then, he's alone in the darkness, two miles beneath the surface, with just a few inches of carbon fiber between him and the crushing pressure of the ocean. When the Titan Submersible suffers a system failure on its first crew dive to 10,000 feet, it remains out of communication for more than an hour. But its pilot, Stockton Rush, doesn't halt the mission. Instead, while the crew of the support ship anxiously tries to reestablish contact, he pushes on. And by the time communications are restored, Rush has already taken Titan even deeper to 13,000 feet, almost two and a half miles beneath the surface. For the first time, Titan has reached the depth of the Titanic shipwreck with a person aboard. It's also the deepest that anyone in the world has been in the past six years. So for Rush, this dive is a complete vindication, proof that his unconventional, widely questioned submersible actually works. And Rush's solo dive isn't his only cause for celebration at the end of 2018. Nearly a year ago, OceanGate's Director of Maritime Operations, David Lockridge, was fired after raising concerns about Titan's design. Lockridge then filed a whistleblower complaint with OSHA, the Occupational Safety and Health Administration. And when Stockton Rush heard about that, he sued Lockridge for defamation and breaching confidentiality clauses in his contract. Lockridge counter sued, claiming wrongful termination. But the legal cases were stuck in limbo pending OSHA's final judgment. And with OSHA prioritizing older complaints first, its investigation never really got going before Lockridge's legal bills began to climb unsustainably. Now Lockridge has decided to abandon the fight. He and OceanGate settle out of court, with both parties agreeing to drop their cases. The terms of the settlement bind Lockridge to silence, but that means the OSHA investigation loses its primary witness. And the federal case soon stalls completely, with OSHA eventually having no choice but to close its file on OceanGate. So, with that legal cloud lifted, Stockton Rush and OceanGate head into the next series of tests with newfound confidence. In April 2019, Titan returns to the depth of the Titanic, and this time Rush has company. Joining him on the submersible are three passengers, among them the fellow submersible entrepreneur Carl Stanley. But while Rush seems completely satisfied with Titan's performance, Stanley isn't so sure. Partway through the dive, he hears a loud crack that makes everyone on board fall silent. Rush dismisses it, explaining that he's heard noises like that every time he's been in Titan. He says although the crack sounds startling, it's just a few weak carbon fibers breaking, glue joints, flexing or pockets of air popping under pressure. The acoustic monitoring system will alert them if anything's really wrong. But that explanation doesn't convince Stanley. The next day, when he safely returned to the surface, he emails Rush and outlines his concerns. In Stanley's opinion, the cracking noises cannot be dismissed as a few stray fibers snapping. He suspects that part of the hull is breaking down. But Rush just waves him off. So Stanley follows up with a second, more blunt assessment. He writes, I think that hull has a defect that will only get worse. The only question in my mind is will it fail catastrophically or not? Rush manages to placate Stanley with the promise of more tests, but privately he's confident that there's nothing wrong. And he doesn't change his plans to take paying passengers to the Titanic later in the summer. In early June, the final tests get underway in the Bahamas. And as usual, OceanGate's engineers give the submersible a quick once-over before it's towed out to sea. But this time, they discover a problem. They quickly summon OceanGate's Director of Engineering, Tony Nissen. When he arrives at the dock side, one of his technicians pulls back a white panel on the sub's exterior. Nissen looks through the gap and his breath catches. There's a visible crack in the carbon fiber hull. The technician reports that it wasn't there before the previous tests. Most likely, it occurred during the same dive when Carl Stanley heard the loud cracking sound. Nissen shakes his head in frustration. This will certainly delay the next set of tests and might even be enough to shut down the entire project. He tells the technician to try to find out how deep the crack goes, and in the meantime, he needs to let Rush know the bad news. With such an obvious flaw, there's no way that even Stockton Rush will send Titan back into the water. The upcoming tests are canceled and instead the submersible is packed up and sent back to OceanGate headquarters in Seattle for further analysis. The extent of the damage soon becomes clear. Titan doesn't just need repairs, it needs an entirely new hull. Replacing it will cost time and money, and on behalf of his investors, Rush demands accountability. He quickly pins the blame on Director of Engineering Tony Nissen. Nissen has always called for the Titan's testing process to be slowed down to allow more inspections of the hull, but Rush still insists he should have found the flaw sooner. So in the summer of 2019, Tony Nissen is fired from OceanGate. Several other engineers follow him out the door, and in their place, Rush promotes software engineer Phil Brooks to Director of Engineering and elevates former intern Emily Hammermeister to Project Manager. But the personnel changes don't alter the fact that the Titan is in no state to go back in the water. Vowing to the inevitable, Rush postpones OceanGate's first summer of expeditions to the Titanic. He's not prepared to publicly admit that there's a problem with his submersible, though. Instead, he blames the cancellations on the lack of an appropriate support ship to transport the Titan to the North Atlantic. Then he puts out a second announcement, revealing that OceanGate is using the extra time before next year's diving season to refit Titan with a new hull. There's nothing in the statement to suggest that this is anything but a routine piece of maintenance, but still, this is an opportunity for Rush to change course. Because over the past 18 months, several experts have voiced their worries about Titan's carbon-fiber hull and the possibility of a catastrophic failure. They have repeatedly urged Rush to change his plans, but Rush has no intention of switching to a more conventional titanium hull. That would mean starting all over with an entirely new design, and Rush is still convinced that carbon fiber is the right material. So Titan's new hull is much like the old one. Rush insists on a rapid design and build process, because the submersible is now two years behind schedule, and OceanGate has spent a lot of money with nothing to show for it. If the company is to survive, Titan needs to be ready as soon as possible. Still constructing such a specialized component does take time, and the new hull isn't ready for lab-based tests at the University of Washington until a year later. There, in a cylindrical steel pressure tank, a scale model of the rebuilt Titan is put through its paces. Air compressors hum and fluorescent lights flicker overhead as Stockton Rush watches a technician make the final preparations. The scale model of the Titan's new carbon fiber hull is only a few feet long and looks more like a toy than a cutting edge submersible. But the results of today's pressure test could determine whether Titan ever travels to the bottom of the ocean again. The technician running the test is young, in his mid-twenties, wearing a lab coat that's too big for him. Standing next to Stockton Rush, he looks very much the kid. Well, Mr. Rush, pressure transducer is reading clean so we can start whenever you're ready. Rush steps closer, peering over the man's shoulder at the monitor. A graph of pressure versus strain scrolls slowly across the screen, but it's empty for now. All right, let's do it. Run the test. The technician nods and keys in the command. Vowels hiss to life, and the pressure in the tank begins to climb in steady increments. Rush folds his arms and watches the first numbers appear on the screen. Well, what do you think? This is the time to place your bets. Well, hard to say. Carbon fiber behaves beautifully right up until it doesn't. The abrupt nature of failure is the whole challenge. So we find the rough edges and smooth them out. Or we identify the limits, yes. Well, I've never been much one for limits. The pressure inside the tank ticks upward. It reaches the equivalent of 4,000 feet under the sea and 5,000, then 6. The technician points at a rising line on his monitor. The graph shows the strain on the hull increasing. Well, the slope's a little steeper than I'd like here. It always looks messy early on. The acoustic sensors are clean. Yeah, no major pops just yet. All right, looks like she's holding. The pressure continues to climb to 7,000 feet, 8,000, 9,000. The technician leans toward the screen. A small jump there. We're still within tolerance. It's fine. The numbers keep going up. But as it closes in on 10,000 feet, a deafening crack ricochets through the lab like a gunshot. The technician flinches, but Rush stands still, eyes locked on a flashing red line on the monitor. Well, that's it. It's full structural failure. Equivalent depth was less than 10,000 feet. You know, scale models always underperform. That's well below target, though. Titanic's at almost 13,000. I know that, but these things are incredibly conservative. It's not representative reality. It's still a big gap between 10 and 13,000 feet. Then we'll build another model, make adjustments, and fine tune it until we get there. Stockton Rush refuses to show any doubts in front of the University Technician, but inside he's furious. The young man in the lab coat is right. There is a big gap between the pressure that the model suggests Titan can handle and the depth that the submersible needs to dive to. As it stands, Titan won't make it to the Titanic, and if it can't get there, then OceanGate is finished. Within hours of the failed pressure test on Titan's carbon fiber hull, Stockton Rush is already sketching out solutions in his head. The scale model's failure was a gut punch, but Rush refuses to interpret it as a sign that carbon fiber is the wrong material. In his mind, it simply means the design needs refinement. So he immediately starts asking industry experts how to make carbon fiber even stronger. Before long, he latches onto what he thinks is the answer. When carbon fiber is made, the material is slowly heated in a pressurized oven to ensure the fibers mesh together for maximum strength. By adjusting the temperature, pressure, and duration of this curing process, the carbon fiber can be made even stronger. And Rush believes with the right combination of these variables, the carbon fiber will be able to resist even the enormous pressures at the depth of the Titanic. Confident in this theory and impatient with what he sees as unnecessary delays, Rush decides to forgo another scale model test entirely. Instead, he tells his construction partners to leap straight into building a full size hull using a revised curing method. When this new full scale hull is finished, Rush ships it to the University of Maryland, which has a pressure chamber large enough to test it. There, under controlled conditions, the new hull survives the equivalent of a trip to 12,500 feet without failing. It's all the confirmation Rush needs. The hull is ready. But while the carbon fiber core of the Titan may be new, much of the rest of the submersible is not. Wherever possible, Rush tells his engineers to reuse components from the previous version of Titan. So the titanium end caps and the interface rings that join to the carbon fiber are salvaged and attached to the new hull. This must be done carefully because if any component is damaged during removal or reinstallation, that imperfection could later become a structural weak point. Even a tiny scratch could end up being fatal. But while OceanGate engineers work meticulously to install the salvaged parts, Stockton Rush takes a more cavalier approach. As the sub is being put together, he decides to fit new lifting rings to the hull. These will allow Titan to be hoisted into the air by a crane, making it much easier to move around on land. But the carbon fiber hull was not designed to be suspended in the air. His engineers warn Rush that the rings will put unpredictable strains on the sub. But Rush thinks he knows better. He's confident that his new carbon fiber hull is strong enough to withstand the deepest depths of the ocean. So these new lifting rings will be no problem. By early 2021, Titan is ready, and shallow water tests resume in Washington state. But this time, Rush treats the dives not only as engineering trials, but as marketing opportunities. Prospective Titanic expedition passengers are invited on board for short trips under the sea. Several are so impressed that they immediately sign up for the real dives. The price of a trip to Titanic with Rush's company has now climbed to $250,000, yet interest seems stronger than ever. Among the potential customers is Discovery Channel host Josh Gates. Knowing that Titanic documentaries are always popular with viewers, Gates pitches the idea of filming his trip to the wreck. The network bosses quickly green light the program, and in May 2021, Gates and a camera operator join one of Titan's test dives in Puget Sound just north of Seattle. But after several hours underwater, Gates is uncomfortable. He shifts his way trying to find a position that doesn't make his back feel like it's folding in on itself. The interior of Titan is smooth metal from end to end, a sleek, featureless tube offering little comfort to its passengers. So Gates turns to Rush, who's sitting by the controls. Quarter a million dollars doesn't buy you a seat in this thing? Rush taps on a touchscreen mounted near his knees. Well, seats just take up space that we don't have. Besides, sitting on the floor gives everyone an equal view. It's democratic. Gates raises an eyebrow. Well, democracy isn't all that comfortable, I'd say. Rush chuckles, but doesn't look up from the display. Gates takes in the cramped cabin again and tries to imagine descending through pitch black water to the bottom of the Atlantic. So how long would the Titanic dives last? Well, six hours minimum. Okay, well, genuine question. How do people, you know, deal with human biology down here? You mean, where are the restrooms? Yeah, it's not like you can step outside or go behind a tree. Rush pulls out a small sealable box. Well, we use this. And for privacy, we set up a screen by the porthole. So the toilet's directly in front of the window. Well, it's not like any of the fish are going to mine, right? Gates glances toward the porthole, where a scuba diver's faceplate hovers inches away from the other side. Well, the fish might not mine, but this guy's got a front row seat. Yeah, that's for the testing. We're just trying to resolve a couple of issues. We'll be on our way soon. Gates opens his mouth to reply, but the touchscreen in front of Rush chirps a warning tone and flashes red. Hey, is there a problem? No, innovative platforms sometimes have quirk, you know. We're just having a little trouble with our poor horizontal thruster. Rush reaches for the hand-hold controller, presses a button and waits. Are we moving? No, but the control program thinks we are. We'll figure it out. Rush picks up the radio handset. Topside, this is Titan. Topside, Titan. Hey, you copy? Topside? There's no answer and a screen behind him goes black. All right. Well, we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way. Rush pulls out a small notepad. Gates tries to read upside down as Rush scribbles something. Writing them a note? Well, we've lost comms. Here, hold this to the window. Gates holds the paper up and the diver outside inches closer, reading it and signals with his hand before swimming away. But just as he does, the lights flicker. The touch screen then reboots only to freeze again. Rush taps the display in frustration. All right, well, I guess that's enough for today. You're ending the dive? Yeah, these systems need to reset topside. Rush reaches for the ballast controls and the sub gives a soft metallic groan that begins its slow ascent. Another diver drifts into view following them like an escort. Gates leans back against the hull, feeling the vibration of the rising craft. Seems like the bathroom situation wasn't our biggest problem then. In the aftermath of this failed dive, Josh Gates sits down opposite Stockton Rush for an on-camera interview. He presses Rush on the technical issues they faced underwater, and through the lens, Rush seems polished and confident in his answers. But when Gates watches the footage back later, he notices something else. Rush never really addresses the failures, he just sidesteps them. With so many red flags, Gates makes the decision. He calls his bosses at Discovery and tells them plainly, he's not going to be diving again in Titan, and urges the network to shut down the documentary. They agree, and Gates gives up his seat on the submersible. But the other customers do not, and OceanGate's first commercial expeditions to the Titanic are scheduled to begin within weeks. But since the Titan has not been certified as safe by an independent agency, OceanGate cannot insure it, and legally, it is not licensed to carry passengers. To get around these regulations, OceanGate declares that the people on board won't be officially passengers at all. Instead, they'll be mission specialists, temporary additions to the crew performing nominal, non-critical tasks. The money they pay isn't a ticket price either, but a contribution to the expedition costs. And before boarding, each of them must sign a waiver that mentions the possibility of death four times on the first page alone. All that might be enough to put some people off, but for many, the allure of the Titanic is simply too tempting. So a month after Titan's final slate of tests, the submersible is transported across North America to Newfoundland. It's loaded onto its support ship Horizon Arctic, where it's joined by the first cohort of mission specialists. Then they all head out into the North Atlantic. Among the wealthy adventurers on board is Pennsylvania businessman Fred Hagen. He's got a seat on the second dive of this expedition, but he's so excited that he can't resist joining the briefing for the first dive as well. The conference room it's held in hums with nervous excitement as Stockton Rush outlines the plan for the day. He says he'll be piloting Titan himself and then presents the French Titanic expert, PH. Nardulé, who will serve as their guide at the wreck site. After the introductions are complete, Rush shifts his tone. He reminds everyone present that Titan is an experimental submersible. Things can go wrong, and if they do, the consequences could be fatal. If anyone wants to back out, now is the time. Hagen glances around the room and a few people chuckle nervously. But no one raises their hand or says a word. Many of the passengers are Titanic obsessives who've dreamed of seeing the wreck their entire lives. They're not about to walk away from this chance, especially having paid a quarter of a million dollars. So Rush flashes a grin and continues with the briefing. But he doesn't mention the compromises and setbacks that have marked the Titans' development. He keeps quiet about the failed tests, the crack in the hull and all the warnings that he's dismissed and ignored. So Hagen and the other mission specialists have no idea they're trusting their lives to a vessel with fundamental flaws. They are completely unaware that every dive to the bottom of the ocean will be a roll of the dice, and they have no way of knowing that despite all Stockton Rush's confidence, the question is not whether Titan's carbon fiber hull will fail, but when. From Audible Originals and Airship, this is episode 3 of the Titan Submersible Disaster for American Scandal. In our next episode, Titan finally takes paying passengers to the wreck of the Titanic, but Stockton Rush ignores the warning signs about his submersible safety and his dreams of deep sea exploration end in tragedy. Follow American Scandal on the Audible app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to all episodes of American Scandal ad free by joining Audible. And to find out more about me and my other projects, including my live stage show coming to a theater near you, go to notthatlindseygraham.com. That's notthatlindseygraham.com. If you'd like to learn more about the Titan submersible disaster, we recommend the documentaries Titan, the OceanGate disaster from Netflix and Implosion, the Titan sub-disaster from the BBC. This episode contains reenactments and dramatized details. And while in most cases we can't know exactly what was said, all our dramatizations are based on historical research. American Scandal is hosted, edited and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham for Airship. This episode is written and researched by Scott Reeves, senior producer, Andy Beckerman, managing producer, Emily Burke, fact-checking by Alyssa Jung Perry, audio editing by Mohamed Shahzeb, original music by Thrum, sound design by Gabriel Gould. Executive producer for Airship is William Simpson. Executive producer for Audible is Jenny Lauer Beckman. Head of creative development at Audible, Kate Navin. Head of Audible Originals, North America, Marshall Louie. And chief content officer, Rachel Ghiatza. Copyright 2026 by Audible Originals LLC. Sound recording copyright 2026 by Audible Originals LLC.