The news hit Magnus Marlowe like a physical blow, worse than the stock crash. The immediate loss of forty million dollars in liquid capital, just when he desperately needed it to manage the crisis, sent him into a brutal frenzy.
The Marlowe Industries war room, now a temporary command center adjacent to the empty boardroom was a disaster zone of discarded printouts and empty coffee cups. Magnus paced the length of the room, his security and legal teams shrinking away from his fury.
"Gone," Magnus roared, slamming his fist onto a glass table until the surface spiderwebbed. "Forty million dollars, simply gone! The Triton’s Wake was three hundred nautical miles off the coast of Morocco, in international waters, and the cargo vanished! How does a pres
