Chapter 37 - The Ghost of Fifth Avenue
The salon of the *Empress of the Sea* was adorned in white silk and gold leaf, reeking of sickening opulence and lilies. Sitting behind a grand mahogany desk was Eleanor Vance.
Seeing her in high-definition through a screen was terrifying; seeing her in the flesh was suffocating. She looked barely forty-five, preserved by unlimited wealth and pure, chilled malice. She wore a tailored cream coat, her silver-streaked hair swept back, sipping the same Earl Grey from a porcelain cup.
"Julian, darling, step out on the aft deck," Eleanor said without looking up from her tea. "The grown-ups need to speak."
Julian blinked, clearly expecting a triumphant welcome. "Eleanor, I brought her, just like we agreed. The paperwork for the escrow—"
"Get out, Julian," she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper, yet carrying the force of a guillotine.
Julian swallowed hard, cast one nervous glance at me, and scurried out the glass sliding doors like an obedient dog.
The doors clicked shut behind him, sealing the salon in soundproof silence. Eleanor set her cup down and looked at me. Her emerald eyes—the mirrors of my own—swept over me with clinical detachment.
"You have your father’s posture," Eleanor remarked, tilting her head. "Rigid. Self-righteous. But you have my instinct for blood. What you did to Julian’s shell companies in the Caymans was exquisite work, Claire. Truly."
"Cut the sentimental poison, Eleanor," I said, placing the titanium briefcase on the glass coffee table between us. "Where is the deactivation sequence for Astrid?"
Eleanor chuckled, a soft, musical sound that made my skin crawl. "Straight to business. No hug for your mother who spent twelve years orchestrating the single largest wealth-transfer in human history? Henry was a coward. He wanted to hoard the Vance fortune in boring philanthropic trusts and safe-haven bonds. I knew that true power requires chaos. And you, my darling daughter, were the perfect scalpel to carve out his empire."
"You put a bomb in your sixteen-year-old daughter's chest," I whispered, my knuckles turning white against the briefcase handle.
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"I gave her an incentive to keep you compliant," Eleanor replied smoothly, as if discussing the interest rates on a mortgage. "Now. Open the case. Slide the Genesis drive across the table, and phone Henry to step onto the gangway. Do it now, Claire. Astrid has three hours left. And I assure you, watching her flatline via satellite would break my heart."
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