The Offshore Club

The Offshore Club
A Shipwreck Manual for the Ruling Class - and a How-To Guide for Those Who Want to Sink With Style
Genre: Techno-political thriller / Noir maritime
Sub-genre: High-adrenaline financial satire; capitalist closed-door drama turning into a global manhunt
Audience: Readers of Don DeLillo, Stieg Larsson, William Gibson, Virginie Despentes, Bret Easton Ellis, Chuck Palahniuk, Houellebecq - and anyone unafraid to watch luxury burn or truth drown on purpose.
In a world more valuable than a tax haven and more toxic than an oil slick, the super-yacht Nemesis is a floating HQ for elites who've literally bought themselves a private ocean.
Then - a catastrophic data leak.
A hostage crisis playing out in every newsfeed.
And dollar-drones dropping payloads on whatever morals are still afloat.
The novel drags you from the armored decks of a floating palace to the plush trading floors of Zurich and Lisbon, and into the ice-cold courtroom of Oslo. A faceless hacker known as Spectre wrestles with one impossible choice - publish every rotten secret in the world... or erase it all - while a battered survivor (Sofia) hunts an incendiary billionaire (Victor) in a final, desperate race toward the Arctic.
There are no life vests for morality here:- Dialogue salted with cyanide.- Interludes styled as classified dossiers.- Characters oscillating between survival instinct, sartorial cynicism, and radioactive rage.
You'll encounter:- A hedge fund that manipulates truth like it's a crude-oil price.- A captain turned whistleblower against her will.- A reputation algorithm that kills more cleanly than a pistol.- A show-trial where "transparency" is sold by the pound.
The style is raw, syncopated, neon-lit - somewhere between a leaking diplomatic cable and an anti-capitalist manifesto dropped from a helicopter. Every chapter ticks like a countdown (T-48h → T0). Every sentence cracks like a stock price in freefall.
This isn't a maritime adventure.
It's a total electrical blackout on the upper decks of high finance.
A strobe-flash on the violence money dresses up as lifestyle.
The question still floating after the last page:
If everything eventually sinks, who's selling the life jackets?