Chapter 8 - The Mask Slips
Brooke’s voice rose an octave, sharp and hysterical. “What are you talking about? That’s impossible! My clients are wiring half a million dollars this evening! You can’t cancel on us now! Do you know who I am? Do you know the kind of reputational damage this will cause my company?”
“Your company,” Pierre said quietly, “has failed to provide a valid financial guarantee. Under the liquidated damages clause of the agreement you executed, Luminary Yacht Escapes now owes Vanguard Marine a cancellation penalty of eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars, payable within five business days.”
“Are you insane?” my father roared, his face flushing crimson, the veins in his neck bulging against his collar. “This is a shakedown! We are American citizens! You can’t hold us to some fraudulent European fine! I demand to speak to the owner of this boat right now! Call the owner!”
My mother began to wring her hands, backing away toward the automatic sliding glass doors. “Richard, please, don’t cause a scene... what about the money?”
“Shut up, Linda!” Dad barked. He turned back to Pierre, spitting words with the same savage entitlement he had wielded at the birthday dinner in Miami. “I don’t care what kind of foreign scam you’re running here. I have lawyers who will tie this floating bathtub up in litigation until your grandchildren are dead! Call the owner of this vessel down here immediately, or I will have the American consulate down on this dock within the hour!”
Pierre did not flinch. He did not blink. He merely stepped back two paces and turned his body toward the sweeping spiral staircase of smoked glass and titanium that led to the upper master decks.
“There is no need to telephone the consulate, Mr. Ward,” Pierre said evenly.
The soft click of low-heeled shoes echoed against the marble landing at the top of the stairs.
May you like
“The owner is already on board.”
***
