Marcus laid the certified corporate charter flat on the cedar table:
THE APEX SOVEREIGN LOGISTICS & DEFENSE GROUP
FORMERLY: VANGUARD CREATIVE & STERLING MARITIME
CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER & MANAGING TRUSTEE:
SEBASTIAN MILLER
PERCENTAGE OF VOTING EQUITY: 51% (CONTROLLING FEE SIMPLE)
STATUS: RATIFIED UNANIMOUSLY // UN-APPEALABLE
Marcus looked at me:
“The firm is yours, Sebastian.”
“The thirty-two commercial shipping terminals along the West Coast are yours.”
“The sixty-million-dollar maritime endowment is yours.”
“And the agency that fired you at eight-fifty-two this morning…”
Marcus smiled—a razor-thin, terrifying flash of aged ivory:
“…is currently waiting for you to decide whether you want to turn the building into a public search-and-rescue training center.”
I looked at the paper.
I looked at my name.
SEBASTIAN MILLER.
The name my grandfather had carried out of the Chicago port yards in nineteen-seventy-four.
I did not look at the two hundred and forty million dollars.
I walked to the edge of the cedar porch steps.
