Chapter 8 - The Shadow Syndicate
The penthouse suite of the Sterling Shipyard headquarters offered a panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean, but I wasn't looking at the water. I was staring at a massive, glowing digital schematic projected onto the glass wall of my office.
Tobias was typing furiously on his laptop, his eyes darting across lines of decrypted code. We had spent the last week tearing through Richard’s seized hard drives, hunting for the identities of the silent partners Garrett had threatened me with.
"Richard wasn't just laundering money through the ghost freighters," Tobias said, a dark urgency in his voice. "He was moving illegal, untraceable weapons tech for a private military syndicate operating out of Europe. They call themselves the Vanguard Group. Richard owed them fifty million dollars in delayed shipments, and he was planning to use the payout from your life insurance to cover the debt."
"And since Garrett failed to kill me, the debt is still outstanding," I realized, the gravity of the situation sinking in.
Before Tobias could respond, the heavy mahogany doors to my office swung open. Marcus, our head of security, stepped in. His jaw was clenched, and his hand rested subtly on the holster at his hip.
"We have a problem," Marcus announced grimly. "A team of corporate lawyers just bypassed the front desk with a federal injunction. They are accompanied by heavily armed private security contractors. They are demanding immediate access to the executive floor."
"Let them up," I said, taking my seat behind the massive oak desk that had once belonged to my father. "Let's see what Vanguard looks like in the daylight."
A moment later, a tall, striking man in a bespoke charcoal suit walked into my office. He exuded an aura of lethal, untouchable wealth. He didn't look like a thug; he looked like a king who was used to taking whatever he wanted.
"Ms. Sterling," the man purred, offering a mockingly polite bow. "My name is Victor Thorne. I represent the Vanguard Group. It is a tragedy about your late husband’s incarceration, but business must continue. Your company owes my clients fifty million dollars in assets. Since your accounts are currently frozen by the SEC, we are here to officially seize control of the shipyard’s operational licenses as collateral."
He tossed a thick legal folder onto my desk. "The contracts were signed by Richard Sterling three weeks ago. They are ironclad. You have exactly one hour to vacate the premises before my security team physically removes you."
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I looked at the folder, then looked up at Victor. I didn't flinch. I didn't panic.
"You made one fatal miscalculation, Victor," I said smoothly, leaning back in my leather chair. "You assumed I was a civilian."
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