Chapter 7: The Auction of Secrets
Upstairs, the ballroom was buzzing with anticipation. The string quartet had stopped, replaced by a booming voice over the PA system urging the guests to gather near the grand stage. Marcus Blackwood stepped up to the microphone, raising a glass of vintage Dom Pérignon.
Julian stood near the front, checking his Rolex. Where was she? If she had been caught, even he couldn't stop the army of mercenaries on this boat from dropping her into the Atlantic.
"Friends, allies, and esteemed guests," Marcus boomed, his charismatic voice echoing over the water. "Tonight, we look toward the future. A future of prosperity, strength, and unyielding leadership. Tomorrow, I will officially announce my candidacy for the United States Senate!"
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause. Billionaires and politicians raised their glasses, completely captivated by the silver-haired tyrant.
"But leadership requires transparency," Marcus continued, placing a hand over his heart. "It requires a spotless record and a commitment to the people. I promise you—"
He was cut off by a piercing, deafening shriek of static from the speakers. The guests covered their ears, groaning in pain.
Suddenly, the massive digital screens flanking the stage—meant to display Marcus's campaign logo—flickered violently. The logo vanished. In its place, a sprawling spreadsheet appeared.
"What is this?" Marcus demanded, his face flushing red as he yelled at the sound booth. "Cut the feed! Cut it now!"
But the technician in the booth was frantically slamming his hands on the keyboard to no avail. The system was locked.
Julian’s lips curved into a wicked smile. She had done it.
The screens began to scroll rapidly. Names, dates, and dollar amounts flashed in massive, glowing text for the entire elite world to see.
Operation: Viper. Offshore Account #4992. $5,000,000. Target: Judge Harrison. Status: Eliminated.
Account #8831. $12,000,000. Bribe to SEC Commissioner Davis.
And then, the final line appeared in blood-red text, freezing the breath in Marcus’s lungs.
Target: Alexei Rostova. $50,000,000. Status: Eliminated.
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The ballroom erupted into sheer chaos. The politicians who had just been cheering for Marcus suddenly backed away as if he were radioactive. Cell phones were pulled out; the guests were instantly recording the screens, texting their lawyers, and severing ties with the Blackwood name in real-time.
"Lies!" Marcus roared, his mask falling off as he scrambled off the stage. "It’s a hack! A setup! Security, lock down this vessel!"
