Chapter 6 - The Tribunal at the Yacht Club
The Grand Ballroom of the Manhattan Yacht Club on the Hudson River blazed with morning light through soaring floor-to-ceiling glass facades.
Two hundred maritime executives, port commissioners, union heads, and shipping magnates sat around thirty circular tables draped in white linen, sipping vintage champagne as fifty-five-year-old Marcus Cole stood at the elevated podium.
Cole was an aristocratic sociopath dressed in a bespoke pinstripe suit, his silver hair combed back with razor-sharp precision, wearing a five-carat diamond signet ring that caught the flashbulbs of the business press.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Cole announced smoothly into the microphone. "Today marks the unification of the North Atlantic shipping corridors. With the acquisition of the Red Hook container berths, our consortium establishes an automated, unchallengeable monopoly over the Eastern Seaboard."
The heavy double mahogany entrance doors of the ballroom were blown open by concussive hydraulic force.
The applause died instantly.
Twenty armed federal marshals in tactical gear swept through the threshold, carbines held at the high ready, followed by thirty private security operatives from House Moretti who systematically sealed every fire exit and terrace door in the hall.
Dominic Moretti strode down the center carpeted aisle.
He wore an impeccably tailored charcoal three-piece suit beneath a heavy black cashmere overcoat, his presence commanding immediate, breathless terror across the two-hundred-guest assembly.
Walking on his right arm was I.
I wore an elegant, tailored emerald wool power dress Mrs. Ferrara had procured from Manhattan at dawn, my hair styled in a sleek, professional chignon, my chin lifted with absolute, unyielding sovereignty.
Behind us walked Frank Callahan, carrying four heavy steel cases stamped with the gold seal of the United States District Court.
Marcus Cole froze at the podium. His gold fountain pen slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the wooden lectern.
"Moretti...?" Cole stammered, backing away from the microphone. "What is the meaning of this armed invasion? This is an executive corporate assembly!"
May you like
Dominic stopped at the foot of the central riser, looking up at Cole with slate-gray eyes that held zero human mercy.
"The assembly is adjourned, Marcus," Dominic said, his baritone booming off the vaulted ceilings like an iron bell. "Because David Hayes just audited your books from beyond the grave."
