Divorced on Monday, Bought the City on Tuesday: The Infinite

The Mediterranean Jewel

Chapter 40

The sun was rising over the Mediterranean Sea when the Gulfstream G650 began its descent.

Arthur looked out the window. The Republic of San Marcos was a breathtaking expanse of lush green mountains, pristine white-sand beaches, and a sprawling, densely populated capital city that wrapped around a massive deep-water port.

But as the jet descended lower, the cracks in the facade became obvious. The city’s infrastructure was crumbling. The massive cargo cranes in the port were rusted and motionless. The Vivaldi bloodline had bled this island dry, extracting every ounce of wealth to pay off the predatory national debt, leaving the citizens in a state of perpetual poverty.

"Look at that," Nyx said, pressing her face against the thick glass of the window, completely ignoring the "Fasten Seatbelt" sign. "The Vivaldi family really did a number on this place. Half the city doesn't even have a functioning power grid."

"We are going to fix that," Arthur said quietly.

The jet touched down smoothly on the private runway of the presidential palace.

When the cabin door opened, the humid, salty air of the Mediterranean rushed in. Arthur stepped out onto the boarding stairs.

Waiting for him on the tarmac was a sight that made even Victoria Sterling’s breath catch in her throat.

Lined up in perfect, terrifying symmetry were five hundred soldiers. They didn't wear fabric uniforms. They were clad in matte-black, hyper-dense adaptive armor. Their faces were obscured by sleek ballistic visors glowing with faint blue optics. They stood entirely motionless, their heavy sub-orbital assault rifles resting perfectly against their chests.

At the head of the formation stood their commander, a towering figure marked with silver chevrons on his shoulder plates.

As Arthur’s foot touched the asphalt, all five hundred soldiers slammed their boots into the ground in absolute unison. The shockwave rattled the windows of the nearby terminal.

"Aegis Phalanx reporting, Sovereign," the commander’s electronically augmented voice boomed across the tarmac. "The island is secure. The perimeter is locked. We await your command."

Arthur walked slowly down the line of super-soldiers, his Aura of the Sovereign bleeding effortlessly into the air, instantly recognizing and accepting their absolute loyalty.

Standing near the terminal building, surrounded by his own nervous, heavily outgunned secret service detail, was the former President of San Marcos. He was a short, sweating man in a rumpled suit, staring at Arthur's cybernetic army in sheer, unadulterated terror.

Arthur approached him. Vera flanked his left, Victoria his right.

"Mr. President," Arthur said, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. "I am Arthur Vance. I believe we have some paperwork to finalize."

"You... you can't do this!" the President stammered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You brought an unauthorized military force onto sovereign soil! This is an act of war!"

"You surrendered your sovereignty the day you took Vivaldi’s money," Arthur corrected him, pulling a silver pen from his pocket. "I bought your debt. Therefore, I bought your island. I’m relieving you of duty. Your private jet is fueled and waiting on runway two. You have ten minutes to board it."

"And if I refuse?!" the President shrieked, looking desperately at his secret service detail.

The detail didn't move. They were staring at the five hundred Aegis Phalanx soldiers, fully aware that drawing a weapon would result in their immediate vaporizations.

Arthur smiled. "If you refuse, I will let my CFO audit your personal bank accounts. Victoria?"

Victoria stepped forward, offering a razor-thin, predatory smile. "I've already peeked, Mr. President. You've been skimming millions from the national healthcare budget to fund a private villa in Monaco. If you don't get on that plane, I will broadcast those ledgers to the starving citizens outside this gate. Let's see how long your secret service protects you when a mob of thousands wants your head."

The President’s face turned the color of ash. He looked at Arthur, then at Victoria, realizing he was utterly, fundamentally outmatched.

He snatched the silver pen from Arthur’s hand, signed the digital tablet Victoria held out to him, and practically sprinted toward the waiting jet.

Arthur watched him run. The pathetic display brought no satisfaction. It was just business.

"Nyx," Arthur commanded, turning to the hacker. "Broadcast a global alert. The Republic of San Marcos is officially dissolved. Welcome to the Sovereign State of Vance."