Chapter 23 - The Atlantic Crossing
The Vance private jet, a sleek Gulfstream G650ER, pierced through the transatlantic storm at fifty thousand feet, leaving the bruised thunderclouds of the American seaboard far behind.
Inside the cabin, the mahogany table was strewn with nautical charts, corporate flowcharts, and the yellowed manifest Charles Ward had sealed inside the envelope. Thomas sat opposite me, his sleeves rolled up, working between two encrypted laptops while satellite feeds scrolled with corporate registrations from the Swiss canton of Zug.
"Marcus Sterling is alive," Thomas said, spinning his laptop to face me. "He was pushed out of the Sterling Group seven years ago after he blew the whistle on their illegal port infrastructure investments in West Africa. He’s been living under quiet protection in a private chalet near Lucerne."
"And Vivienne?" I asked, sipping black coffee from a porcelain cup that remained remarkably steady despite my racing pulse.
"Vivienne Sterling is currently the majority trustee of the Alpine Maritime Bank in Geneva and a patron of the Zurich Opera," Thomas replied, his eyes narrowing. "She doesn't operate in the shadows like Beatrice. She operates in the glaring light of absolute wealth. European royalty, Gulf state sovereign wealth directors, prime ministers—they all attend her annual winter charity ball at the Dolder Grand."
He zoomed in on a high-resolution photograph of a woman in her late fifties. Vivienne Sterling had silver-blonde hair swept into an architectural chignon, cheekbones that could cut glass, and eyes the color of winter frost. Around her neck sat a diamond necklace of breathtaking scale. But it was not the diamonds that made my heart seize.
Pendant beneath the stones was a miniature crest in sapphire and gold: two crossed anchors beneath a rising sun.
"That’s my grandfather's maritime crest," I whispered, reaching out to touch the cold screen. "The original Ward house emblem. It disappeared from our Charleston estate during the audit when my father was hospitalized."
"She didn't just want the harbor," Thomas said, his voice dropping into that quiet, deadly register that made me realize why he had conquered Vance Maritime before he was thirty-five. "This is personal. Vivienne Sterling didn't recruit Julian Montgomery by accident. She wanted the daughter of Charles Ward stripped of every dollar, mocked by Charleston high society, and reduced to absolute ruin before she took the final prize."
I pulled the antique brass key from my pocket. It felt warm from my skin.
"My father knew this day would come," I said, staring out the oval window into the infinite black void above the clouds. "He endured Julian’s insults. He endured Beatrice’s venom. He let them think they were outsmarting him because he knew that if he fought them openly while he was dying, Vivienne would have struck him down before he could protect me."
Thomas reached across the table, covering my fingers with his. His hand was calloused, warm, and entirely steady.
"We have six hours until we touch down at Kloten Airport," he said softly. "The auction at the Baur au Lac starts at eleven. We have Marcus Sterling’s location, but we don't have box 404 open yet. When we land, we split up. I’ll send a private security convoy to secure Marcus in Lucerne. You and I go straight to Banque Privée Vontobel on the Bahnhofstrasse."
"No," I countered, looking squarely into his eyes. "We don't split up. That is what they expect. Julian said Vivienne’s people already have people watching the terminals. If Marcus Sterling is the key witness, they will be watching his chalet. We go together, Thomas. We don't give them a single crack to drive a wedge between us."
A slow, fierce smile crossed Thomas’s face. It was the look of a man who had found his equal on the field of battle.
"Then we strike fast," he said. "And Eleanor... when we face Vivienne Sterling, remember one thing."
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"What?"
"In Charleston, you were defending your name against petty hypocrites who hid behind afternoon tea and family silver," he said, leaning close, his breath warm against my cheek. "In Zurich, you are the legitimate sovereign owner of one of the deepest natural harbors in the Western Hemisphere. Act like the queen Charles Ward raised you to be."
