Chapter 8 - The Gala at the Harbor
In mid-December, the Seattle Maritime Alliance hosted its annual black-tie charity gala at the historic Bell Harbor International Conference Center.
Over five hundred leaders of industry, naval commanders, and international ambassadors filled the grand ballroom, which was draped in silver, midnight blue, and glittering crystal ice sculptures.
It was the premier social event of the Pacific Northwest shipping community.
At eight o'clock, the whispering in the reception foyer fell into an admiring, breathless hush.
Roman Collins walked into the ballroom, looking striking and commanding in a custom midnight-blue tuxedo with grosgrain lapels.
And on his arm, draped in a breathtaking emerald-green satin column gown that shimmered like deep ocean water under the chandeliers, was Clara Vance.
My dark hair was swept into an intricate, elegant updo, accented by a delicate diamond hairpin that had belonged to Roman's grandmother.
Around my neck rested a simple, brilliant teardrop diamond pendant—a personal gift from Roman to celebrate Northstar’s successful first month under independent management.
"Nervous?" Roman murmured, his warm breath brushing against my ear as we stepped into the ballroom.
"Two weeks ago, I was worried about whether I could afford my mother's groceries," I laughed softly, looking at the glittering sea of executives.
"Standing in a room of billionaires doesn't frighten me anymore."
Roman smiled—a proud, dazzling smile that made several nearby socialites gasp in envy.
"Nothing should frighten you, Clara. You conquered this city with a single spreadsheet."
Throughout the evening, maritime directors and foreign dignitaries lined up to shake my hand, asking for my analysis on the upcoming Pacific trade tariffs.
Nobody asked who made my coffee, nobody dismissed my credentials, and nobody treated me like an assistant.
I spoke with absolute mastery, outlining our fleet’s transition toward sustainable zero-emission vessels and expanded safety benefits for our longshoremen.
Around eleven o'clock, the master of ceremonies stepped up to the main podium under a blinding white spotlight.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the speaker announced, his voice carrying through the immense room,
"Tonight, we have the distinct privilege of presenting the Pacific Logistics Visionary Award to an individual whose integrity and mathematical brilliance revolutionized our regional shipping corridors."
The speaker turned toward our table at the front of the stage.
"Please join me in congratulating the President and Chief Executive Officer of Northstar Maritime—Miss Clara Vance!"
The ballroom erupted into deafening, thunderous applause.
Captains of industry, federal regulators, and civic leaders rose to their feet in a standing ovation that shook the crystal glasses on the tables.
I looked at Roman, stunned into temporary silence.
"President and CEO?" I whispered, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Roman stood up, offering me his hand with eyes full of deep, unwavering devotion.
May you like
"The board approved the appointment this morning, Clara," Roman whispered, his fingers wrapping warmly around mine.
"The company was always yours. Now everyone knows it."
