Chapter 27 - The Broken Scion
Sloane Avery trembled so violently that her teeth chattered loudly in the cold chamber. She looked from me to the stone-faced councilors seated in the high benches, then down at Arthur, who was weeping uncontrollably on the floor.
"Aurelia..." Sloane stammered, pulling her coat around herself in a pathetic attempt to retain some shred of dignity. "This... this is illegal! You can't kidnap American citizens and hold them in a foreign vault! My father—"
"Your father," Clara interrupted coldly, bringing up a live news broadcast on the large holographic projection screen above the dais, "is currently in the custody of the Bundespolizei at Frankfurt Airport. Avery Global Logistics has filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy. The Avery family accounts in Liechtenstein, Luxembourg, and Monaco have been seized by the Federal Banking Commission under anti-money laundering warrants."
The projection showed Sloane’s father, Richard Avery, being led across a rain-slicked German tarmac in handcuffs, surrounded by armed federal police, his jacket pulled over his head to hide from the blinding flashes of international press cameras.
Sloane stared at the screen, her breath hitching in her chest as the last pillar of her arrogance crumbled into dust.
"You... you destroyed us," Sloane whispered, her eyes wide with uncomprehending horror. "In one night... you destroyed everything we built..."
"You destroyed yourselves," I replied, leaning forward and resting my forearms on the arms of the throne. "You saw an empty vault and assumed there was no dragon guarding it. You assumed that because I did not flaunt my wealth on social media, because I did not attend your petty fashion galas, and because I allowed Arthur to play the master of our home, I was weak."
I stood up from the throne. The nine councilors immediately stood with me, their heads bowed in total submission.
I walked down the granite steps, the soft sweep of my coat whispering against the stone. I stopped directly in front of Arthur Vance. He looked up at me, his eyes pleading, his spirit utterly broken.
"What... what are you going to do to us?" Arthur whispered, his voice trembling like a dying candle. "Are you going to kill us?"
"Kill you?" I asked, a faint, cold smile touching my lips. "Death is an escape, Arthur. Death is what you gave my father when your family sabotaged his plane over the Alps thirty years ago."
Arthur gasped, his eyes darting wildly. "I didn't know! I swear to God, Aurelia, I didn't know what my father did! I was just a boy!"
"You may not have planned the murder, Arthur, but you lived off the blood money," I said, my voice turning to pure steel. "You took his seat, you took his daughter, and you tried to steal his ancestral throne. No, Arthur. I am not going to kill you."
I turned to Julian Sterling.
"Julian."
"Yes, Sovereign?"
"Arthur Vance will be remanded to the custody of the maritime labor registry in Monrovia. He will work aboard our bulk cargo fleet for the next twenty-five years, earning minimum maritime wage. Every penny he earns will be deposited into the Whitaker Memorial Scholarship Fund for children of deceased aviation workers."
Arthur’s face contorted in agony. "No! Please! Not the ships! I can't survive that! Aurelia, please!"
"And Sloane?" Julian asked, gesturing toward the shivering woman on the floor.
"Sloane Avery will be returned to New York," I declared. "The American authorities are waiting for her at JFK. She will face trial for grand larceny, interstate wire fraud, and corporate conspiracy. She wanted the spotlight. Let the federal court give it to her."
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The Swiss guards stepped forward. Without another word, they seized Arthur and Sloane by the arms, dragging them toward the side exits. Arthur screamed, begging, sobbing my name until the heavy steel doors slammed shut, cutting off his cries forever.
***
