Chapter 37 - The Monaco Gambit
The helicopter touched down on the aft helipad of *The Leviathan* under the cover of a dense Mediterranean sea fog.
The vessel was colossal—over five hundred feet of matte-black carbon fiber and military-grade steel, bristling with radar domes and electronic countermeasures. Private security contractors dressed in sterile grey tactical gear flanked the landing zone, their submachine guns lowered but held at the ready.
I stepped off the skid onto the teak decking, wearing an emerald-green silk trench coat over a tailored black pantsuit. Behind me, Ethan walked in lockstep, his posture taut, eyes calculating every sniper position on the upper catwalks.
A tall man with slicked-back dark hair and a crisp Italian suit stepped forward, bowing slightly.
"Madame Sterling," he said with practiced deference. "I am Director Castillo. The Chairwoman is waiting for you in the Grand Salon. Your companion, however, must surrender his sidearm and wait in the guest quarters."
"Mr. Vance’s former associates don't dictate terms to me, Castillo," I said coldly, walking past him without breaking stride. "Ethan stays at my right shoulder. If one of your men touches him, I trigger Arthur’s Zurich protocol before my coat hits the floor."
Castillo’s aristocratic composure fractured for a fraction of a second. He glanced at the discreet earpiece in his ear, listening intently to an invisible command, before reluctantly nodding.
"Follow me, Madame."
We were led through corridors that resembled an ultra-modern private museum rather than a ship: priceless Renaissance paintings hung under museum-grade lighting, interspersed with high-tech biometric security doors.
Finally, two massive titanium doors parted silently, revealing the Grand Salon.
At the center of a circular room overlooking the vast, dark expanse of the Mediterranean sat twelve chairs arranged around an obsidian table. Eleven of the seats were occupied by men and women of immense wealth—European aristocrats, Asian tech oligarchs, Middle Eastern energy magnates. Their faces were impassive, cold, and predatory.
May you like
And at the head of the table sat my mother.
***
