Chapter 3 - The Broken Jaw of Donald Sterling
The crack of breaking bone echoed through the steel corridor like a rifle shot inside an iron drum.
Donald Sterling’s head whipped sideways, his teeth and a spray of dark crimson splattering against the lacquered wall before his legs folded beneath him. He struck the teak floorboards with a wet, heavy thud, curling into the fetal position, his hands clutching his shattered face, groaning through a mouthful of blood and broken enamel.
Victoria let out an ear-splitting shriek, stumbling back until her shoulders slammed into the bulkhead.
“Christian! Have you lost your mind? He is a United States Senator! You just committed federal treason on a registered vessel!”
Christian didn't look down at the groveling politician.
He pulled a white linen handkerchief from his pocket, methodically wiping the crimson flecks from his tattooed knuckles before tossing the stained cloth directly onto Donald Sterling’s face.
“Federal treason, Victoria?” Christian murmured, his voice so quiet, so flat and devoid of human warmth that the corridor seemed to drop ten degrees. “This vessel is registered under the maritime flag of the Republic of Malta. The territorial waters of Massachusetts ended twelve miles behind our stern.”
He turned his dark, predatory gray eyes onto his fiancée.
“Under international maritime law, aboard this hull, my word is the only constitution that exists.”
Leo stepped forward, his tactical harness creaking as he held up a heavy, fireproof aluminum document case retrieved from the master suite’s floor safe.
“We cracked the secondary electronic safe in the master wardrobe, boss,” Leo reported, popping the latches. “Found Miss Sterling’s personal offshore satellite ledger. Along with the unredacted lease agreements for the Boston terminals.”
Christian took the ledger from Leo’s hands.
He flipped the heavy pages under the corridor sconces.
The handwriting was neat, elegant, and unmistakable: Victoria Sterling’s private accounts.
“Read page fourteen, Victoria,” Christian commanded, not raising his voice by an octave.
Victoria stood pinned against the wall, shivering violently, her jaw trembling so hard she could barely separate her teeth.
“I... I don't know what that is—”
“I’ll read it to the assembly,” Christian said softly.
“‘*Memorandum of Understanding: In exchange for Senator Donald Sterling securing the sole deep-water terminal dredging concessions in Boston Harbor for Sterling Logistics, Victoria Sterling guarantees the private, unmonitored accommodation of domestic staff aboard the vessel Sovereign. Initial consideration: Clara Miller. Secondary consideration: Nora Hall or Katherine Hall.*’”
Christian looked up from the page.
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush bone.
“You didn't just fire Clara three weeks ago, Victoria,” Christian whispered, stepping toward her until his shadow swallowed her whole. “You sold her to Donald to cover your family's debts in Nantucket. And when Nora refused to let him put his hands on her waist tonight, you sent her twenty-year-old sister down to the master cabin to fulfill the contract.”
Victoria began to weep, dropping all pretense of high-society poise, her manicured hands clawing at Christian’s charcoal lapel in frantic, groveling desperation.
“Christian, please! My father owes forty million dollars to the European syndicates! If Donald didn't deliver the federal dredging permits, they were going to liquidate our entire family! I had no choice!”
Christian looked down at her hands on his coat as if they were venomous spiders.
He didn't strike her.
He simply reached up, closed his fingers around the eight-carat emerald engagement ring on her finger, and pulled.
The platinum band scraped dryly over her knuckle, coming free in his palm.
Christian turned his hand over, letting the ring drop onto the floorboards, where it rolled through the puddle of Donald Sterling’s blood.
“Leo.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Take Victoria Sterling, Donald Sterling, and Marcus Vance down to the lower cargo hold. Strip their phones, their jewelry, and their shoes. Lock them in the dry storage vault beneath the waterline.”
He looked back toward the stateroom where I was holding my weeping sister on the carpet.
May you like
“And tell the kitchen to prepare the master suite in the east wing. Bring Dr. Vance down with a pediatric trauma kit immediately.”
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