Chapter 5 - Out in the Cold
"Adrien," I said, turning away from the pathetic sight on the floorboards. "Turn the ship back to the private dock. Our guests’ evening has been thoroughly interrupted."
"Immediately, Mademoiselle," the captain responded with a crisp bow before barking orders to the crew.
Within minutes, the powerful diesel turbines purred to life, sending a deep vibration through the hull as the Étoile turned gracefully away from the open sea, heading back toward the dazzling lights of Port Hercule. The party was over. The music had ceased, replaced by the hushed, nervous whispers of guests frantically checking their social feeds. Cassandra’s livestream clip had already crossed three million views. The narrative had completely flipped: headlines were already calling her the "Monaco Yacht Bully," ripping into her career with savage delight.
When the gangway touched the private pier, two Monegasque police officers were already waiting under the streetlights, accompanied by port security officials.
Cassandra was escorted down the wooden ramp first. She had no coat, no champagne, and no followers left to cheer her on. Her silver dress, once dazzling under the deck lights, looked cheap and wrinkled in the harsh glare of the dock spotlights. Her heels clicked unevenly on the wet stone as the officers took her statement, handing her a formal citation for disorderly conduct and trespassing.
Donald Hayes hurried past her without a single backward glance, his phone glued to his ear as he frantically begged his father's board of directors to answer his calls. Not a single person offered her an umbrella against the light drizzle that had begun to fall over the harbor.
I stood on the mid-deck observation platform, watching the scene below. Marie had brought me a warm cup of Earl Grey tea, and Julian stood beside me with a tablet, already drafting the formal press release.
"Her agency dropped her four minutes ago," Julian noted without looking up. "Her cosmetics line contract with Sephora was voided under their morality clause. By tomorrow afternoon, her name will be completely toxic in both New York and Paris."
I took a slow sip of the hot tea, feeling the warmth spread through my chest. "I don't care about her career, Julian. What about her father’s victims? The pensioners whose funds were stolen?"
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Julian looked up, a faint, genuine smile touching the corners of his mouth. "The Marlowe Foundation has already purchased the distressed debt. Once the bankruptcy court processes the seizure of the Vale estate, every single retired dockworker will receive one hundred percent of their stolen pension funds."
"Good," I whispered. "That was the only thing that mattered."
