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bright blue Mediterranean sky. It looked to be another perfect day in the playland of the ultrarich. The passenger’s dark skin was offset by a loose-fitting white shirt and a pair of black Ray·Ban sunglasses. He looked like something out of a travel magazine with his arms stretched across the back of the white leather seat and the sun shining down on his chiseled face, a postcard, if you will, for how to get away from the everyday grind of life. For the passenger sitting in the back of the launch, however, this little sojourn out to sea would be anything but relaxing. He was not getting away from the everyday grind, he was heading directly into it. He was on his way to pay a visit to a man he disliked intensely. And to make matters worse, the visit was not his idea. It was a command performance.
    The handsome man went by the name of David. No last name, just David. It wasn’t his real name, but one that he had adopted years ago, while he’d attended university in America. It was a name that suited him well in a profession that called for striking just the right balance between anonymity and panache. David was a survivor. He had grown up in an environment that bred violence and hatred, and had somehow managed to master both at an early age. Controlling his emotions instead of being driven by them was what allowed David to pick his way through the minefield of his youth and set a course for greatness. And now at the relatively young age of thirty-four he was poised to change the world. If only the man he was going to see would leave him alone, he could put the final pieces of his plan into place.
    David looked over the windscreen of the launch at the massive yacht anchored out at the far environs of the harbor and sighed. In David’s mind the yacht and its owner were almost indistinguishable. Both were huge, both demanded to be noticed by all who slipped into their sphere and both needed a crew of tireless workers to keep them afloat. There were days when David wondered if he could turn back the clock and start over, would he have chosen someone else to be his benefactor? He traveled a great deal, and in his line of work, if you could call it that, taking notes was a very bad idea, so he constantly mulled over his previous decisions and how they would affect his next move. Every flight and train ride was an endless scrolling through of what-ifs and whos.
    At some point, though, it was all moot. He was too far into it now to change horses. Prince Omar was his partner, and at the end of the day David had to begrudgingly admit that the man had held up his end of the bargain, at least financially. As the ostentatious yacht loomed larger with each passing second, David once again had the uneasy sensation that he was being pulled into the prince’s orbit against his wishes. The man was like an illicit drug. In small doses he was tempting and beguiling, but if not monitored, his excesses could rot your body and your soul to the core.
    As the launch pulled up alongside the massive 315-foot yacht, the sun was blocked out, its warmth dissipating in the cool morning air. David glanced down and noticed goose bumps on his arm. He hoped this was merely a result of the change in temperature and not an omen of bad things to come. The prince had requested that David join him for lunch and drinks at two that afternoon, but David wasn’t about to waste an entire day in Monaco. There was far too much to be done. The prince would not be happy, but at this point in the game there wasn’t a lot he could do other than stamp his feet and protest.
    Before the launch came to a stop, David shoved a hundred euros into the driver’s shirt pocket and leapt onto the stern deck. He landed gracefully and immediately noticed five white garbage bags filled with the waste from last night’s party. Even in the cool morning air he could smell wine and beer and God knows what else leaking from the bags. The prince would be in