Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
The space inside Unit 108 felt smaller than a prison cell as Carter’s hired muscle stepped past the threshold, their shadows stretching long and menacing against the steel walls. I kept my weight distributed evenly on my feet, the instinctual survival mechanisms learned over three years in the yard at Oakwood taking over.
"You always were pathetic, Carter," I said, my voice dangerously calm as I slowly pulled the straps of the backpack tighter over my shoulders. "You couldn't handle the pressure of the business, so you stole from the man who gave you a name, and then you let your mother poison him to save your skin."
Carter’s arrogant grin flickered for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening slightly with surprise before hardening into pure venom. "You don't know anything. The old man was obsolete. He was standing in the way of a major acquisition with an international consortium. We did what was necessary to secure the future of this family."
"By trying to kill him?" I countered, taking a slow step backward toward the heavy timber desk. My hand secretly brushed against the back of the heavy iron desk lamp.
"He's gone, Finnley. Legally, financially, and physically, he doesn't exist anymore," Carter hissed, waving his hand toward the two men. "Take the bag. Break his hands. Let's make sure he can't write any more appeals to the parole board."
The first man lunged forward, his hand reaching out to grab the collar of my jacket. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the base of the heavy iron desk lamp and swung it in a violent, upward arc. The solid metal base caught the man squarely under the jaw with a sickening crack. He stumbled backward, groaning as he clutched his bleeding face.
The second man pulled a extendable steel baton from his belt, swinging it viciously toward my head. I ducked beneath the blow, driving my shoulder directly into his midsection, utilizing his own momentum to slam him backward into a stack of heavy plastic storage crates. The crates tumbled down in a chaotic avalanche of old corporate documents and spare parts, pinning him to the concrete floor.
"You think a couple of street thugs scare me after three years in maximum security?" I growled, turning my gaze onto Carter, who had gone completely pale, stepping back toward the open air of the yard.
Carter reached into his jacket pocket, his fingers wrapping around the handle of a small silver handgun, but before he could clear the fabric, I lunged across the space. I grabbed his wrist, slamming it hard against the corrugated steel door frame. The weapon clattered to the gravel outside. I drove my fist into his cheekbone, sending him crashing down into the dirt next to his car.
"This is just the beginning, Carter," I whispered, picking up his dropped handgun and pocketing it. I grabbed my backpack, slipped past his groaning associates, and disappeared into the labyrinth of storage containers before the facility's sirens could begin to wail.
An hour later, I was sitting in the back of a twenty-four-hour diner three miles away, using a public payphone to dial a private number I had memorized from my father’s old corporate directory.
The line rang four times before a sharp, professional voice answered. "Evelyn Marcus."
"Evelyn, it's Finnley Dennis," I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the diner's entrance.
A sharp intake of breath echoed over the line. "Finnley? Where are you? I heard you were released this morning, but Reagan told the board you had skipped town to avoid your parole officer."
"Reagan is trying to cover up a murder, Evelyn," I said, my voice shaking with raw emotion. "I have my father's duplicate optical drives. I have the forensic proof that Carter embezzled the three million dollars, and I have the audio recordings of them planning his medical isolation. My father is alive, Evelyn. He’s hiding in Sedona."
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A long silence followed, the weight of the revelation hanging heavily over the encrypted cellular line. When Evelyn spoke again, all corporate detachment was gone, replaced by a fierce, cold legal determination.
"Meet me at my private office in downtown Seattle in two hours, Finnley," she said explicitly. "Bring the drives. Reagan has called an emergency board meeting for ten o'clock tomorrow morning to finalize the absolute sale of Dennis Electronics to a shell corporation based out of Panama. If that sale goes through, the corporate assets will be shielded behind international secrecy laws forever. We have exactly twelve hours to stop them."
