Chapter 8 - The Counter-Strike Mobilization
By 2:00 PM, my private study had been converted into a tactical command center.
Three massive monitors displayed real-time satellite telemetry tracking maritime traffic across the North Atlantic. Julian Sterling sat at the corner desk, surrounded by stacks of emergency federal injunctions. Across from him, Marco was on an encrypted line with the United States Coast Guard Investigative Service.
Elena stood at the central glass conference board, a black dry-erase marker in her hand. She had drawn a complete, intricate flowchart mapping the financial shell companies connecting Laurent Maritime, Julian Mercer’s Cayman entities, and the Swiss reinsurance syndicate.
Julian Sterling looked up from his tablet, shaking his head in disbelief.
“This is airtight,” Sterling breathed, tapping a balance sheet. “Gabriel, she’s mapped three years of layered wire transfers in six hours. The SEC would have taken eighteen months to untangle this web.”
“Because the SEC doesn't have a personal reason to remember every shell company Richard Laurent ever created,” Elena said without turning around. She capped the marker with a sharp *click*. “Every one of these shell entities uses the maiden names of Laurent’s three former mistresses. He’s arrogant. He thinks he’s poetic.”
I stood beside the window, watching the rain begin to fall once more over the city.
“Where is Richard Laurent now?” I asked Marco.
Marco hung up the phone. “He just landed at Teterboro Airport in his private Gulfstream. He came straight from D.C. after posting a five-million-dollar cash bail for Camille.”
“He bailed her out already?” Sterling asked, his brow furrowing.
“With five million cash,” Marco confirmed. “The judge was an old college classmate of his. Camille is currently confined to their estate in the Hamptons under private security guard. But Richard didn't go to the Hamptons. His motorcade is heading toward the Brooklyn Navy Yard.”
Elena turned around, her face pale. “The Brooklyn Navy Yard? Why would he go there?”
“Because that’s where the private harbor pilots for the *Camille’s Pride* are stationed,” I answered coldly. “He knows Camille was arrested. He knows Genevieve sold her shares to me. He knows the walls are closing in. He isn't waiting until midnight tomorrow night.”
Elena’s eyes widened with sudden, suffocating panic. “He’s bringing the ship in tonight.”
“He has to,” I said, walking over to the board. “If the ship enters federal waters before our injunction is filed, maritime salvage law gives his private operators jurisdiction over the cargo manifests. If an ‘accidental’ fire breaks out offshore tonight, the evidence sinks to the bottom of the ocean, and he collects four hundred million dollars from the Swiss insurers before the Coast Guard can board the wreckage.”
“We need that injunction signed right now,” Sterling said, reaching for his phone.
“A judge won’t sign an emergency maritime seizure order without visual verification of the manifest discrepancies,” I said. “The legal process takes six hours minimum. By the time the Coast Guard deploys an intercept cutter, the ship will already be inside the bay.”
“Then what do we do?” Elena asked, stepping closer to me. There was no fear in her eyes now—only the desperate, burning need to stop the man who had destroyed her father.
I looked at Marco.
“How fast is the *Vance Alpha*?”
Marco smiled—a tight, vicious grin. “Two gas-turbine engines, Gabriel. Forty-eight knots. She’s docked at the 34th Street Heliport Marina right now, fueled and ready.”
“Call the tactical maritime team,” I commanded. “We board the *Camille’s Pride* ourselves before she crosses the three-mile limit.”
Sterling jumped to his feet. “Gabriel! That is maritime piracy under international law! You cannot board an incoming container vessel with private security!”
“I am an authorized port security commissioner for the State of New York,” I replied, unbuttoning my suit jacket and tossing it onto the sofa. “And as of ten minutes ago, Vance Capital holds a thirty-five percent lien against Laurent Maritime’s operating bond due to their default on our bridge facility.”
I looked directly at Elena.
“I have the legal right to inspect the cargo of any vessel carrying our secured assets,” I said. “And I need a certified forensic auditor to verify the manifests on site.”
Elena didn't hesitate. Not for a single fraction of a second.
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
“Elena, you’re injured,” Sterling protested, pointing at her bandaged arm. “That ship will be guarded by private mercenaries hired by Laurent!”
“Those mercenaries took my father’s life,” Elena said, her voice dropping into an octave of absolute, terrifying resolve. “I watched them tow his ships away while he lay dying in an ambulance. I am boarding that vessel, Mr. Sterling. And I am going to watch Richard Laurent’s empire drown in the very harbor he stole from us.”
I walked over to Elena. I reached down, took her good hand, and looked straight into her eyes.
May you like
“Put on heavy gear,” I told her. “The storm is coming.”
***