Chapter 6 - The Chase to the Courthouse
The Lincoln Navigator tore down the Interstate 35 exit ramp at eighty miles an hour, tires screaming against the wet concrete as Tom Jenkins navigated the midday traffic like a getaway driver in an action film.
In the back seat, Ethan sat straight and rigid, his hands gripping his tablet as he accessed the internal corporate servers of Caldwell-Tech.
“Agent Sterling,” Ethan said without looking up, “Marcus is using his personal digital signature to authorize the SEC transfer protocol. If he hits enter before we reach the plaza, the voting trust legally dissolves.”
“He’s three miles ahead of us,” Sterling said, gripping the passenger handle as the SUV swerved around a semi-truck. “His car is heading straight for the federal building on Commerce Street. My field unit is already trying to block his exit, but Marcus has private security detail from Vanguard running interference.”
“Bypass the field unit,” Ethan commanded. “Ram them if you have to.”
Tom glanced back in the rearview mirror with a wild grin. “You heard the boss, Agent. Hang on to your teeth.”
The SUV surged forward, its heavy reinforced chassis slamming into the back of a black Mercedes sedan belonging to Vanguard security that tried to cut them off at the off-ramp. Metal groaned against metal, glass shattered across the asphalt, and the Mercedes spun out into a construction barrier, leaving the lane wide open.
Through the rain-streaked windshield, the imposing granite columns of the federal courthouse loomed ahead.
Parked illegally in the red zone right outside the main steps was Marcus Vance’s silver Audi. Marcus himself was already out of the car, carrying his leather briefcase under his arm, jogging up the wet stone steps toward the grand entrance with his phone pressed to his ear.
“There!” Maya shouted from the jump seat beside Ethan, pointing a small finger through the glass.
“Tom, stop the car!” Ethan yelled.
Before the Navigator had even come to a complete halt, Ethan hit the hydraulic ramp release. The metal plate slammed down against the curb with a loud thud.
Instead of waiting for assistance, Ethan grabbed the heavy wheels of his chair with both hands and threw his entire upper body forward. He launched himself down the ramp, his tires skidding on the wet concrete, rolling across the sidewalk with reckless, blistering speed.
“Mr. Caldwell! Wait!” Agent Sterling shouted, jumping out of the SUV.
“Stay back!” Ethan roared over the sound of the traffic. “This is my debt to pay.”
Marcus Vance reached the top of the courthouse steps just as the heavy glass doors opened. He turned around, panting slightly, and pulled his phone away from his ear to press the final authorization button on his mobile corporate app.
“Marcus!”
The sharp, thunderous shout echoed off the granite pillars of the courthouse.
Marcus froze. He slowly turned his head.
Coming up the stone steps—not rolling smoothly, but violently hauling his own wheelchair up the steep incline with bleeding, blistered hands—was Ethan Caldwell.
His face was drenched in rain and sweat, his teeth gritted in a snarl of pure, unadulterated fury, his eyes burning with a fire that hadn't existed in thirty years.
“E-Ethan?” Marcus stammered, taking a step backward, nearly dropping his briefcase. “How... how are you here? You shouldn't be here—the board meeting was supposed to—__”
“You thought you could bury my father’s sins, Marcus?” Ethan shouted, hauling his chair up the final step until he was towering over the lawyer despite sitting down. “You thought you could steal my company, murder my legacy, and leave me to rot in a glass box?”
Marcus’s hands trembled violently as he stared down at the phone in his hand. The screen was glowing, displaying the pending authorization prompt: Confirm SEC Asset Transfer [YES/NO].
“Ethan, be reasonable!” Marcus pleaded, backing up against the massive oak doors of the courthouse. “If Vanguard takes over, we both walk away with millions! We can settle out of court! We can—”
“I don't want millions, Marcus,” Ethan said, his voice dropping into a cold, terrifying whisper that cut through the windy plaza. “I want my name back.”
Ethan reached out with his right hand—not holding a gun, not holding a weapon, but pointing a single, steady finger directly at Marcus’s chest.
“Press enter, Marcus,” Ethan whispered. “Go ahead. Transfer the shares. Because the second you do, Agent Sterling and the federal grand jury waiting inside those doors will arrest you for corporate espionage, racketeering, and the murder of David Brooks in 1996.”
Color drained completely from Marcus’s face. He looked at Ethan, then down at the phone, then toward the open doors of the federal building where two armed U.S. Marshals were slowly stepping out into the portico.
May you like
Marcus’s hand shook so violently that the phone slipped from his fingers, clattering against the stone steps and sliding across the pavement.
The screen went black. The transfer was cancelled.
