Four Yachts

As the waves licked against the yachts, the water looked like metal. It had a greenish-blue tint to it that made the white hulls seem to illuminate.

“Why does he have billion-dollar yachts?” newswoman Valia Goines asked. She had chocolate skin and a broad nose and wide lips. She looked more like a carving for a bust more than anything.

“Why not?” newsman Hines Wayman replied with a question of his own. He was tallish, light brown-skinned and possessed a face like a quarterback, chiseled, lean and muscular.

“When are we going to see why they’re so expensive?”

Wayman appreciated Valia’s curiosity. He grinned. “We’ll find out soon enough. Here he comes.”

The owner of the multi-billion-dollar fleet, Geston Corer made his official appearance. Chatter arose among camera light flashes.

“Please, please. Don’t spend your time ogling at me with these majestic vessels in view!” He smiled. His brown skin contrasted a nautical shirt and white trousers. He was about five foot seven and stood with his hands on his hips like a superhero. He always told folks to drop the “super” part when he posed like that.

Corer cleared his throat. The cement magnate had been able to provide for the city of Wilmington, Delaware tons of the stuff that made his half a trillion dollar fortune. He smelled the salty air.

“These four yachts are wonders in the making. If you wish to understand their names, it won’t take long after you’ve performed a search query. So here they are….”

Airtight, Ego, Second-Hand Lives, and The Strike, each name adorned each vessel, individually.

“Now that you can all use your mobile devices, you’ll know where these titles originated.”

As the results showed exactly what they all meant, Corer used a machine to smash bottles of the finest champagne.