Chapter 5 - The Transatlantic Panic
Marcus bolted from the ballroom like a hunted animal, ignoring Chloe's frantic cries behind him.
He slammed through the emergency exit doors into the rainy night, jumping into the back of Gavin’s waiting sedan.
"Get us to the executive terminal at Teterboro right now!" Marcus screamed at the driver, slamming his fists into the leather seats.
"Call our aviation broker! I don't care what it costs—get me a Gulfstream fueled for Nice immediately!"
Gavin scrambled into the front seat, his laptop already open, his hands typing furiously while his face turned the shade of chalk.
"Marcus, the NYSE has suspended our listing application," Gavin said, his voice trembling with terror.
"The underwriting syndicate from Morgan Stanley backed out ten minutes ago."
"They are citing material non-disclosure of core intellectual property ownership."
"They're calling it potential securities fraud!"
"Shut up, Gavin!" Marcus yelled, pulling at his black silk bowtie until the seams ripped apart.
"Sera is bluffing! She doesn't understand high finance! She's doing this out of spite because of Chloe!"
"She's trying to extract a payout! When I get to Monaco, I will offer her twenty million dollars cash, and she'll fold!"
Gavin turned around in the passenger seat, looking at Marcus with sheer, unvarnished pity.
"She isn't bluffing, Marcus. Look at the corporate registration filings that just cleared the Monaco Commercial Court."
Gavin rotated his screen toward the back seat.
"Sera didn't just inherit the Sterling Maritime Trust last year when her father passed away."
"She is the sole beneficiary of the Sterling-Vance Global Consortium."
"Her family owns sixty percent of Julian Vance’s holding company!"
Marcus stared at the screen as the blood drained from his limbs, leaving him completely hollow.
For ten years, he had treated my visits to Europe as quiet shopping trips to visit distant relatives.
He had never asked about my family’s banking history, never bothered to learn the names of my trustees, and never read the annual trust statements that arrived in blue leather binders.
He had assumed that because I drove an older Volvo and preferred cooking dinner at home, my background was as modest as his own.
He had lived in a gilded palace built entirely on Sterling money, and he had truly convinced himself that he was the architect.
His phone buzzed in his palm.
It was an international call from a private number in Monaco.
Marcus grabbed it, pressing the phone to his ear with gasping, ragged breaths.
"Sera! Sera, listen to me!" Marcus cried out, all pretense of dignity completely gone.
"This is completely out of line! You are destroying a company that five hundred people work for!"
"We can fix this! I will give you half the founder's shares! I will put you on the board!"
"Just release the encryption keys, Sera! Please!"
A low, calm voice answered the line.
It wasn't me.
"Good evening, Mr. Thorn," Julian Vance said, his cool European accent cutting through the phone like an ice pick.
"Sera is currently having dinner on the sundeck and is unavailable to take calls from disgraced former vendors."
"Julian! This is between my wife and me!" Marcus shouted hysterically.
"She was your wife, Marcus," Julian corrected him smoothly.
"Now she is your primary creditor."
"If you wish to discuss terms for a surrender of your operational assets, the Valkyrie will receive you tomorrow at four PM in Port Hercules."
May you like
"Do not be late."
"The auction for your company’s liquidation begins at five."
