Her heart did a ridiculous flutter.It had to be Rex.Before she could reply, another message appeared.
Unknown Number
“Master Coop takes punctuality very seriously.
Don’t be late.”
Xia cursed under her breath, shoving the phone into her pocket.Even when absent, the man managed to be simultaneously thoughtful and infuriating.
Fifty seconds.Shit!
Her legs protested every step as she practically flew down the spiral staircase to the entertainment cabin.The other crew members were already assembled, and Master Coop’s expression suggested she had cut it closer than he appreciated.
“Nice of you to join us, Ms.Foster.”He checked his watch.“With two seconds to spare.”
“Apologies, Master Coop.I had to ensure I was...properly presentable.”
A few knowing smirks from her colleagues turned her cheeks warm.
Great.The whole crew probably knew about my night with Rex.A vision of the small rubbish bin next to the bed overflowing with used condoms and silver wrapping packets flashed through her mind.Holy shit!Why didn’t I think about throwing it out?Too late now.Her cheeks flushed red.Now everyone would think of her as a nymphomaniac!
“Indeed,” Master Coop’s tone could have dried the Pacific.“Now, about the ferry transfer protocol...”
Xia straightened her spine, ignoring the delicious ache that reminded her of exactly why she had almost been late.She had a mission now—to become Mrs.Rex Oliver.And if that meant playing the perfect crew member while sabotaging every potential wife candidate, so be it.
Game.Set.Match.
A CDS member
Cristiano Ronaldo InternationalAirport, Santa Cruz, Madeira, Portugal
“And so, the game has begun, Mr.Oliver.You will regret the day you played me for a fool.I always get what I want, and you have the skill that I need to achieve my goal.I offered you the easy way...you chose the hard way.”A grim smile twisted the attractive features of the man into evil incarnate.“So be it.”
Through dark-tinted Cartier sunglasses, he watched Rex Oliver’s purposeful stride toward the waiting helicopter.Even from this distance, that insufferable confidence radiated from every movement.He presented the same arrogance he had since their senior school days, when he and his four equally privileged friends thought themselves above everyone else.
“Enjoy your last days of superiority, Oliver.”His cultured voice carried a hint of venom.“Your precious algorithm won’t protect the banking world much longer.”
The helicopter’s blades cut through the morning air, its sleek black body emblazoned with the same golden thread and tiger’s eye motif as the GoldenEye plane.
“How fitting.A tiger about to be declawed,” he sneered under his breath.
As owner of one of the U.S.’s most prestigious investment firms, his reputation was impeccable.No one suspected that beneath the Savile Row suits and charitable donations lurked one of the architects of The Consortium—a masterpiece of white-collar crime and illicit financial manipulation.He’d spent twenty years cultivating the perfect U.S.network of wealthy individuals, each one carefully chosen for their combination of greed and vulnerability.The super-rich were all the same.No matter how much they had, they always craved more.It was that greed he used to keep them loyal to him, knowing they would always protect him.Because if he got caught, they would all crumble alongside him.
He was the one who swung his scepter, and they, his loyal underlings, filled his covers every time they breathed...unknowingly, of course.
“They might be filthy rich, but not all of them are very clever,” he muttered as he watched the helicopter take off.He had access to all their information, all their wealth, and all their secrets.Those who knew how he secretly carved small amounts from their wealth kept quiet since he had no empathy for the weak...something he had proved more than a couple of times.
The lives of those who stood in his way meant nothing to him.Death was simply a business transaction—clean, efficient, and utterly untraceable.Seven suicides in the past five years alone, each one a former associate who had developed an inconvenient conscience.One took a header off his penthouse balcony after losing everything in a market crash that never actually happened.Another overdosed on sleeping pills, leaving behind a tearful note about embezzlement allegations that mysteriously disappeared after his death.Yet another, a particularly stubborn banking executive, suffered a tragic robbery gone wrong while vacationing in Monaco.
“Dimwits,” he mused, adjusting his sunglasses.“All of them lack the vision to see the bigger picture.”
Each death had been meticulously choreographed, and each investigation had led to dead ends and plausible conclusions.His hands remained sterile and clean with his reputation untarnished.Even his closest associates never suspected the maestro behind these convenient removals.That was his true genius—the ability to orchestrate destruction while maintaining an image of impeccable respectability.
Several others had simply...disappeared.No bodies, no investigations, and no loose ends.He had learned early that the key to perfect law breaking wasn’t in the execution but in ensuring they never appeared to be crimes at all.People die every day, whether by accident, illness, or despair.Who would question a few more unfortunate souls joining their ranks?
It had been child’s play to be accepted as a member of Louisiana Club Decadent Skies.Over time, he learned that to achieve success, you had to be close to your enemies.The entire CDS gang was just that.
The Consortium’s latest venture was his most ambitious yet.Microscopic deductions from billions of accounts across the globe, so small they would register as routine bank charges.Multiply that by thousands of transactions per day across thousands of banks, and the numbers became staggering.But Rex’s QuantumSecure algorithm he had designed for the banking industry stood in the way.It was an unbreakable wall of code that had frustrated every attempt to breach it.
