Uss Iowa Kantai Collection Novels & Stories

"Sitting makes me soft." Ichiro brought his cane down hard against the floorboards, the sound cracking off the wood-paneled walls. "We share the same blood, Kenji. We share the same name." "And we share the empire," Kenji said. "Don't forget that part." Ichiro slid a thick ledger across the desk, the paper skimming to a halt at the edge. "Look at the numbers." Kenji stepped closer and tilted his head toward the page. "A Tokyo trust fund. Three dummy companies in Panama. Forty million dollars," he read, his voice even.

The crease on the older woman’s face deepened. “I have been calling out your name, yet your ears remained adamant as though I was a fool.” “I am sorry. It wasn’t intentional.” Ejima curtsied, trying to remain neutral. “Please keep that to yourself. I just want to remind you that I am coming to collect my money first thing tomorrow morning,” “But…” Ejima stammered as she shifted her posture to the other foot. It was hard to divulge if the discomfort was from the weight of the yam or the sudden realization that she was in debt. “My…my husband said he would clear the debt,”

was a placeholder to keep the Windsor Empire stable and the Kensingtons from collapsing into bankruptcy. I sat behind my desk, the glow of four monitors illuminating the sharp, cold angles of my face. I wasn't thinking about my "bride." I was thinking about the G650 that had slipped out of Teterboro five days ago. My "Phantom Model" alert pulsed on my central screen. Katia Kensington has posted for the first time in six years. I followed her the time Zane and I were curious what the I* Technologies CEO looked like. I clicked the screen, and my jaw tightened as the images loaded.

T​his is blac‌kmail, h‍e whisp‌ered, the ancient authority completely dra‌ining from his to‌ne. This​ is an acqui‍si‌ti⁠on, Cel‌e​ste‌ corrected​, her voice‌ dropping into a razor-sh⁠arp re⁠gis‍ter‍ th⁠at le‌ft n‌o r‍oom for negotiation. By‌ noon today, t‍he‍ Ko‌wloon Maritime Alliance will sign a comprehensive align‌m‌ent‍ p‍rot⁠ocol with th‌e New Y⁠ork branch. You will retai‌n thirty percent‌ of y‍our tr⁠aditio‌nal regional reven​ue, but‌ the master operational con‌trol o‌f t​he freight sequencing​ will be fu‌lly‌ int⁠egrated i‍n​to the Chen automated network. If your grandson wishes to avoid a lifetim‌e i‍n a feder​al holding cell for‍ i‍nt​ern‍ational maritime piracy, he will be the firs

Cosco Shipping Pisces. "Filter by current location, New York/New Jersey harbor," Wong says to the computer. The list shrinks to three names. Atlantic Conveyor. Hanjin Seattle. Krasnaya Zvezda. My eyes lock onto the third name. "Krasnaya Zvezda," I read aloud. "Red Star." "Russian flagged," Wong says, pulling up the vessel’s registry. "Registered in St. Petersburg. Owned by a shell company in Cyprus called Vostok Holdings."

Taking a deep breath, 'This is for you Dada, Mommy. "A pleasant day to everyone. As Mr. Jensen said, I am Kanatha Trion. The only son of Derek and Alice Trion. I am here standing in front of you to tell not only you who are here but the whole world, that I am back. I am alive and I am claiming what's mine.