Chapter 97 - The Sovereign Table
"You talk about my mother's bloodline like it's a ledger entry," I said, slowly walking toward the granite table. The guards remained posted by the blast doors, their fingers resting along the trigger guards of their weapons. "Arthur tried that for thirty years. He tried to belittle me, hide my existence, and treat my mother like an inconvenience while he bled her inheritance dry. Look where it got him."
One of the other Council members, an obese man wearing a heavy gold pocket watch chain across his waistcoat, sneered. "Arthur was a peasant playing with royal toys! He was foolish enough to let federal courts freeze his assets. We are the Sovereign League. We operate above flags and borders. You stand on our ground, Harrington. Sign the console, or we will take your fingers one by one until the biometric locks clear."
I stopped at the edge of the table, looking directly into Vance's icy gaze.
"My mother knew you would say that," I said softly.
Before Vance could react, I slammed my hand down onto the central interface pad embedded in the center of the granite table—not flat, but twisting the gold signet ring counterclockwise with violent, deliberate pressure.
A loud mechanical lock engaged within the ring. The internal micro-transponder snapped forward, driving a hardened titanium probe directly into the terminal’s maintenance port.
Instantly, the sleek digital screens around the boardroom blinked out, plunging the deck into emergency red lighting.
*Warning: Sovereign Master Override Initiated,* an automated synthesized voice echoed over the platform’s public address system. *Custodian Protocol Delta-One engaged. All autonomous weapons platforms placed in administrative lockout.*
On the giant tactical screen, the countdown timer abruptly froze at **01:12:05**. The status lights beside the three container ships flashed amber, cycling down their missile launch systems into inert standby modes.
Vance jumped to his feet, knocking his leather chair backward, all aristocratic composure evaporating in an instant. "What did you do?!"
"Arthur never had the master key," I said, leaning over the table, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "My mother never gave it to him. She gave it to me. Your ships aren't aiming at the coast anymore, Vance. They're locked under my command."
"Kill him!" the obese councilman shrieked, pointing a trembling, ringed finger at me. "Kill him now!"
The two guards at the door raised their weapons, but they never squeezed the triggers.
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A thunderous explosion rocked the lower deck of the *Tartarus*. The reinforced glass windows shuddered, and a deafening shockwave hurled the council members into the walls as Harris’s tactical team initiated the breach from the platform’s support pylons.
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