Chapter 17 - The Miami ProxyA ghost cannot move fifty million dollars without leaving a footprint, and I had the best tracker in the world on my payroll.
For the next forty-eight hours, the top floor of the Sterling Building was transformed into a militarized war room. Elias and his elite team of cyber-analysts tore through the global financial grid, ripping apart the encrypted layers of Victor’s transaction.
By Thursday midnight, I was sitting on the leather sofa in my office, an empty espresso cup on the glass coffee table, reviewing the final intelligence report. Elias stood by the digital smart-board, highlighting a single, smiling face.
“His name is Alexander Pierce,” Elias explained, tapping the screen. “He is a thirty-five-year-old hedge fund manager operating out of Miami. On paper, he is clean. A rising star in the philanthropic world. But his portfolio is completely fabricated. Pierce is a proxy. He’s managing Victor’s frozen assets, acting as the domestic face for a fugitive.”
I stared at the photograph of Alexander Pierce. He was handsome in a slick, manufactured way, with perfectly styled hair and a three-thousand-dollar suit. He was exactly the kind of arrogant, overconfident sociopath my father would have recruited.
“Victor is using him to launder the money into our foundation,” I deduced, standing up and smoothing the wrinkles from my skirt. “If Pierce is the domestic contact, then Pierce knows exactly where Victor is hiding.”
“Pierce is hosting a highly exclusive charity gala tomorrow night on a private yacht anchored off the coast of South Beach,” Elias noted, his eyes narrowing. “It’s a closed-door event for Miami’s elite. Billionaires, politicians, and celebrities. The guest list is locked tighter than Fort Knox.”
“Get us on that list,” I commanded, walking back to my desk.
“We aren't invited, boss,” Elias smirked, though a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes.
“I don't need an invitation to crash a party paid for with my family’s stolen money,” I said, picking up my purse. “Prepare the corporate jet. We are going to Miami, and we are going to introduce Mr. Pierce to the new reality of the Sterling empire.”
Twenty-four hours later, the humid, salt-tinged air of South Beach whipped against my face as I stepped out of a black armored SUV at the private marina.
I wore a backless, sweeping gown of blood-red silk that clung to my curves and flowed like liquid fire against the neon backdrop of the Miami skyline. I did not look like a philanthropist. I looked like an executioner. Elias walked at my side, wearing a bespoke black tuxedo that failed to hide the lethal, coiled energy of a man ready for violence.
The yacht, a three-hundred-foot floating palace of glass and steel, was glowing with ambient light and pulsing with the heavy bass of a string quartet playing modern pop covers.
We walked up the boarding ramp. Two massive, armed private security guards stepped into our path, holding up digital scanners.
“Name, please,” the lead guard grunted, looking me up and down with obvious disdain. “This is a private event.”
“Mariana Sterling,” I said, my voice perfectly level.
The guard checked his tablet, then sneered. “You aren't on the list, lady. Turn around before I have you physically removed.”
Elias took a half-step forward, his hand subtly moving toward the inside of his tuxedo jacket. But I raised a single, commanding finger, stopping him instantly.
I looked the guard dead in the eye, pulling a heavy, black titanium card from my clutch and handing it to him.
“I suggest you run the routing number on the back of that card through your employer’s primary holding account,” I whispered, a chilling, polite smile on my face. “Because as of ten minutes ago, I executed a hostile buyout of the maritime leasing company that owns this vessel. You don't work for Alexander Pierce anymore. You work for me. Now, step aside, or I will throw you off my boat.”
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The guard stared at the card, his face draining of color as his earpiece crackled with panicked chatter from the yacht’s control room. He swallowed hard, physically taking a step back, and lowered his scanner.
I didn't wait for his permission. I swept past him, Elias a silent, terrifying shadow at my back, and walked directly into the lion’s den.
