I looked at Liam, testing him. “Babe,” he said, flashing his boyish grin, “just grab the ice. Don’t make a scene.”
Ah, yes—the mantra of the inherited class: steal, cheat, dominate, quietly. I reached into my pocket—not for a towel, but my phone. Vantage Capital’s secure admin portal loaded. Sea Sovereign’s shell company, holding company, distressed debt… all flagged in red. Approved lien. Breach of contract confirmed.
Victoria stumbled theatrically, spilling martini on my dress. “Clean that up. You’re used to mopping floors, aren’t you?”
“I’ll handle it,” I said, voice low. “I’m calling the owners.”
“Room service?” Liam asked.
“No. The owners of this vessel.”
Richard barked, “I own this vessel!”
“Leased,” I corrected gently. “Through Sovereign Trust, balloon loan, floating rate—just adjusted four percent.”
The shove came next. Victoria pushed me toward the railing—Atlantic churn twenty feet below. I caught the steel rail, shoulder wrenched, breath stolen. Richard kicked at my ankle. Liam did nothing.
Then came the siren. Gunmetal grey tender slicing waves. “VESSEL SEA SOVEREIGN. PREPARE TO BE BOARDED. YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF MARITIME REPOSSESSION STATUTES.”
Richard froze. Victoria screamed. Liam blinked.
Four men in tailored suits climbed aboard. Arthur Henderson, my Chief Legal Officer, carried a leather portfolio like a weapon. Paperwork finalized. Locks changed. Accounts frozen.
“Clear the deck. Five minutes,” I said. Cold, precise, untouchable.
Victoria’s martini shattered. Richard silent. Liam pale. The sun set, salt air filling my lungs. I leaned back, finally free. Finally in control. I owned it all.
Want to see how I handle the public fallout—and turn social media chaos into leverage? Stay tuned. The story isn’t over yet.