Chapter 45 - The Monaco Gambit
"You look well, Max," Victor hissed, stepping into the server room and locking the door behind him. "Retirement evidently suits you. I, on the other hand, spent six months in a clandestine burn ward in Chechnya, breathing through a tube because of you."
"You did that to yourself, Victor," Maxwell said, his eyes flicking to the EMP drive. Ninety percent. "You built a house of cards and lit the match."
"And now I'm building a new one," Victor smiled, gesturing to the server. "But you're not going to take this one from me. Step away from the console."
"Or what? You'll shoot me?" Maxwell challenged, his voice dangerously calm. "If you fire that gun, the casino security rushes in. You're a dead man on paper, Victor. Interpol is still hunting the ghost of this syndicate. You expose yourself, and you spend the rest of your life in a black site."
Victor's finger tightened on the trigger. "A risk I'm willing to take to watch you die."
"Upload complete," the terminal chimed. The EMP drive flashed red.
A silent, invisible wave of electromagnetic energy pulsed through the room. The servers sparked, hissed, and died violently, plunging the VIP lounge into total darkness.
Victor fired blindly in the dark, the suppressed shots thudding into the drywall.
Maxwell didn't run away; he lunged forward. He tackled his brother to the floor, his fist connecting solidly with Victor's ruined jaw. Victor howled in pain, dropping the pistol. The two men grappled in the pitch black, fifteen years of hatred boiling over into raw, brutal violence.
Outside on the casino floor, the power grid failed simultaneously, thanks to the EMP cascading through the yacht's systems. Panic erupted. The elite clientele scrambled for the exits, screaming in the darkness.
Martha used the chaos instantly. She drew the ceramic blade she had hidden in her garter, slashed the throat of the guard closest to her, and sprinted toward the VIP lounge.
She kicked the door open just as the emergency backup lights flickered on, bathing the room in dull amber. Maxwell was pinning Victor to the ground, his forearm pressed against his brother's throat.
"Max, we have to move!" Martha yelled. "Vane's men are sweeping the floor!"
Victor laughed, a wet, choking sound. "You're dead, Max. Vane has the yacht locked down. You'll never make it off this boat."
Maxwell looked down at his brother, his eyes devoid of any remaining familial warmth. He stood up, delivering a final, brutal kick to Victor's ribs that left the man gasping on the floor.
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"Your money is gone, Victor," Maxwell said coldly. "You have nothing left to pay your men. Let's see how loyal they are when the checks bounce."
Maxwell and Martha sprinted from the room, melting into the panicked crowd as they fought their way toward the upper decks of the yacht, leaving Victor broken in the dark.
